The corner of his mouth lifts, slow, devilish, nothing like the shy boy who blushed ten minutes ago. “Oh, my sweet little angel… I’ve been watching you, learning you, for years.”
The words land like ice water poured straight down my spine.
“No,” I whisper.
My fingers find the door handle. I yank, shove, and throw myself out while the car is still rolling.
Tarmac bites my elbows, my cheek. Pain explodes across my skin, but I scramble up, legs shaking, lungs burning.
“Fuck!” His roar splits the night. Brakes scream. The BMW skids to a stop.
I run two steps before his arms lock around my waist like steel bands.
“No, no, no,” he croons against my ear, breath hot, dragging me backward. “I was finally ready to have you, and you went and let Flynn Brady put his filthy hands on what’s mine.”
I thrash, scream, nails on anything I can reach. “Let me go!”
He shoves one hand down the back of my jeans, yanks my phone free, and smashes it under his boot. Plastic cracks. My lifeline dies with a crunch.
“Now they can’t find us,” he whispers, almost lovingly.
Tears spill hot down my cheeks. “Flynn will find you.”
“He can try,” he laughs, soft and awful, hauling me toward the car. My spine slams against the door; air punches out of my lungs in a burning rush.
He grabs my bag from the seat, throws the contents across the passenger seat. Clothes tumble out, perfume rolls and stops against the gearstick, my camera falls to the car floor.
He lifts the little bottle to his nose, inhales deep, eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck, I missed this.” His voice drops, reverent. “I used to sneak into your flat when you were at work… lie on your bed, press my face into your pillow just to breathe you in.”
Bile surges up my throat. My whole body shakes so hard my teeth chatter.
“But then you moved to his apartment,” he snarls, fist slamming into the car door beside my head, and the metal dents. “And I saw the cameras. Why did you do that to me, Autumn? Why did you let him cage you?”
“I didn’t do anything!” The scream tears out of me, raw and furious. I kick hard. “I was never yours, you sick, deranged psycho!”
His smile widens, eyes black in the dim light.
“Oh, angel,” he whispers, leaning in until his lips brush the cut on my cheek, tasting my blood. “You always were.”
A sharp, sudden sting blooms at the base of my neck.
I jerk hard, kicking, twisting, trying to sink my teeth into any part of him I can reach, but the world tilts almost instantly. My limbs turn to syrup.
He fists my hair, yanks my head back until my spine arches, and I have no choice but to look at him.
“I fucking love you,” he breathes, eyes wild, fever-bright, his mouth crashing into mine.
I clamp my lips shut, shaking my head, but he bites down on my bottom lip, hard, vicious. Pain explodes, copper flooding my tongue. A broken yelp escapes me, and he takes the opening, forcing his tongue inside.
I bite down with everything I have left.
He only groans deeper, like blood is a reward. Cigarettes and iron and sickness fill my mouth.
I want to scream, want to claw his eyes out, want to keep fighting, but my arms are lead, my knees buckle, and the night folds in soft and black around the edges.
My body goes slack against his chest.
The last thing I feel is his lips brushing my temple, gentle as a lover.
