“They don’t seem to realize it’s merely self-sabotage masquerading as agency. See…” I pinch her bottom lip hard enough to make her flinch. “You’d rather burn it all down yourself than wait for someone else to light the match.”
“You’re delusional,” she mumbles, tugging her lip free with a sharp twist of her head. “If anyone’s been starting fires, it’s you. Or have you forgotten about the video Kai has of you?”
“I remember it quite fondly, in fact.” I smirk at her. “Especially the part where I deleted it off his phone.”
Her eyes become skittish. “Are you a pathological liar or something? Kai would never let you?—”
“He didn’t have a choice in the matter. But he certainlychosenot to tell you. You two lovebirds really need to work on your communication. In a few years, after he’s served his sentence, of course.”
It’s sad how quickly her expression changes from disgust to resignation. If I ever needed confirmation of just how much Kai keeps from her, this would be it. She might believe he’s capable of change, but Kai has survived by keeping his darkest thoughts and deeds locked up deep inside. It’ll take more than a simple love affair to rewrite those neural pathways.
“Seem a little desperate to control the narrative yourself, you fucking narcissist,” she says bitterly.
She’s still trying to look defiant. Chin up, shoulders back, her nails digging into my wrist—almost believable if it weren’t for the tremor in her jaw. The way her breath comes shallow and fast. How her throat moves with a hard swallow.
I’d probably pity her. Good thing I’m incapable of feeling sympathy.
“Take off your pants and underwear.”
I tighten my grip a fraction, watching her blue eyes flutter as I think about all the ways I could hurt her if she refuses. All the ways Iwantto hurt her.
For a heartbeat, she just stares at me, lips parted. Her mouth opens—no doubt to argue, to scream, to call me every name I deserve. Her head turns toward the trees, back towardthe garden where Kai was dragged away, where the ambulance lights were still strobing minutes ago.
Where the safe, sane, normal choice is waiting for her.
But then she looks back at me.
And something in her face shuts down.
The girl who might have walked away is still in there, watching. But she’s not the one in charge anymore.
Her hands move to her waistband of her leggings.
Not reluctantly.
But slowly, carefully.
“I won’t ask twice, girl.”
She’s shaking—adrenaline, need, the crash of everything that just happened—but she hooks her thumbs into the elastic and pushes down. The beige leggings pool at her ankles along with a scrap of black cotton that must be her underwear.
No more bikini briefs for my sweet girl. Apparently she’s switched to thongs.
Didhebuy her those?
I hold out my free hand, and she slips out of her soft, ankle-high boots just long enough to pull the leggings off. The November air is frosty enough that I can see goosebumps rise on her thighs, so I let her keep her socks on.
Frostbite is an ugly thing.
I smile, lifting her underwear to my nose. “Smells like someone needs their greedy little cunt stuffed.”
She’s bare to me. Exposed. Vulnerable in ways that awaken the true dark in me for the first time in days.
When I drop to my knees in front of her, her breath hitches.
“Open for me.”
She obeys quickly, fingers sliding her labia open—probably thinking I’m going to taste her, that I’mgivingher something.
