The need to scream bubbled up and would have escaped if Cormac hadn't stopped it in its tracks and dragged me inside.
As terrifying as he can be, the smoothness with which he spun me inside was almost like a dance. Trapped between him and the wall behind me with that playful mischief in his eyes, I feltsafe. There was nothing rough or violent about the way he held me, even with his hurry to get me inside before he got caught breaking in.
I missed you.
It's only been a couple of days.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, though unfortunately, my heart is already responding to his presence, pumping and making my stomach do painful little flips.
He pauses, searching for a reason that makes sense before finally answering, "I told you I'd be keeping an eye on you."
"If you're waiting for me to go to the police, you're wasting your time," I slide out from underneath him, heading for the kitchen. There's no point in going for the pistol taped to the bottom of my sink; he'll catch me before I can use it. And I think he and I both know the harm he can do to me isn't just physical. I’ve become addicted to the toxic high he brings, and it's going to take time for these destructive impulses to dissipate.
First, it starts with getting rid of him. Then, making sure he can't get back in. And lastly, no more Mingle. I have to stop wandering into his life if I expect to kick him out of mine.
"Am I?" he follows shortly behind me, sliding into a stool at my kitchen island, settling in like he belongs here.
I continue around the island, keeping it between us like a barrier, a physical manifestation of how this is going to go.
He's never stayed long before; why should this be any different? Except this time, when he leaves, he won't be coming back in so easily.
"You and I both know it wouldn't help," I shrug, pointedly not looking at him. "Your illegal activities aren't a secret to anyone, and now my secrets belong to you as well. If I try to turn you in, I may as well run my license through the shredder."
Silence sits between us, stretching into an uncomfortable, deafening yawn.
When I can't take it any longer, I glance up to see if he's going to respond at all.
Instead, I find him deathly still, eyes narrowed as he stares through me like he's searching for the truth lying beneath my avoidance.
I raise a single brow, daring him to tell me differently.
"Would you like me to pretend it hasn't occurred to me?" he asks with a taunting smile. “Threatening your job would be the least of my crimes. I've broken into your home, I've used your gunand my knife more than once topersuadeyou into doing what I want.”
His fucking smug grin on the word persuade— the arrogance of this man to tease me with the things he'spersuadedme to do with the threat of bloodshed hanging over me.
He gestures between us with a single, snake-covered finger. "This is extortion. I know that. You know that. But it hasn't bothered you until now. So what's changed?"
"Nothing," I fold my arms over my chest. I don’t want to reveal to him that some asshole showed up here at my door and made me feel afraid in my own home. As it turns out, my capacity for having a stalker ends at one.
One dark brow glides up towards his hairline, "You're lying."
"No. I'm not."
His fingers tap impatiently against the countertop, "I- I can't explain how, but Iknowfor a fact that you are."
Would I feel better if I just told him the truth?
Would it even matter?
What could he do?
He leans across the table, taking a small box in his hand, rolling it back and forth between them like it's a fucking baseball.
"What are these for, Brigit?" he asks softly, trying a more gentle approach.
He doesn't look at me when he asks this time, giving me the consideration of not staring through my soul when he knows I don't want to tell him.
"For keeping strangers out of my apartment," I supply, my tone riddled with sarcasm. "I seem to be having a problem with that."
