“You’re lucky I care enough to help you,” I added coldly. “It would’ve been easier to leave you behind or shoot you and put you out of your misery.”
“Then whydidyou come to my rescue? I didn’t ask for your help. It’s not like I begged for a stalker to come micromanage my life. You followed me. You watched me like some obsessed freak. You knew where I lived, where I worked, what I read—and now you want me to be grateful?”
“You think you’d be better off if I hadn’t?” I snapped, my temper flaring. “If I hadn’t stepped in, you would’ve been fucked to within an inch of your life, strung out on whatever cocktail of drugs they pumped into you, and left licking your wounds like some broken pet after the buyer was through.”
She flinched.
Her chin dropped to her shoulder slightly, like I’d struck her.
Good. Let my words burn.
I carried my plate to the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher as the silence stretched.
When I glanced back, her eyes were darting around like a cornered animal’s.
Then she slowly picked up her empty plate and mug and cautiously stepped around the island to the sink.
Her spine was straight, but everything about her screamed for escape.
After placing her dishes in the sink, she walked past me toward the living room.
Then suddenly, she pivoted and bolted straight for the patio doors.
Fuck.
I heard the click of the lock. The slide of the door opening along its frame.
Then torrential wind and rain.
It was forty degrees Fahrenheit outside, give or take, the worst sort of nasty weather.
I turned and watched as she stepped out barefoot into the storm.
No fucking way.
She wasn’t actually trying to—
But then I remembered how athletic she was—aerialist, gymnast, dancer.
The way she moved on the pole—strong, lithe, balanced.
Every instinct in me shifted.
Cold reason gave way to the heat of a darker impulse.
A predator’s thrall.
She was running.
And my blood ignited with a need—
To chase.
To catch.
To claim.
I was on my feet in an instant, a curse ripping from my throat as I barreled after her.
