Oh. No. No, no, no.
The edges blur. My bones go slack. And he just smiles.
Something is wrong.
The smug son of a bitch watches me like the final piece just fell into place.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just waits.
His eyes light up. Too fucking pleased.
I try to move. To run. My brain screams, but my body just … folds.
This wasn’t a date. It was a trap.
The charm. The wine. That fucking soulless smile.
He looks at me like I’m already his. Like drugging me isn’t a crime—it’s consent.
I try to snarl. To spit. To fight.
Nothing.
Jameson better pray to his cult gods that he fucking kills me.
Because if I survive this, I’m going to rip his jaw off with my bare hands and make him fucking choke on it.
“Up we go.”
His voice is soft, a thin, satisfied sound that makes bile burn at the back of my throat. He’s enjoying every fucking second of this.
“Guess I should’ve cut you off earlier, huh?”
I want to dig my nails into his throat and rip until something gives. I want to whisper “baby girl” in his ear as I skin him with a dull steak knife.
Instead, I slump into him. Limp. Raging. Just how he wants me.
My mouth opens. The words are there, screaming in my head, but my lips won’t shape them. When we step outside, the night air claws into my lungs, like I’m inhaling metal and fiberglass.
I try to shake the dizziness off, but it only makes things worse. My pulse pounds sluggishly in my ears. My chest is too heavy. My arms won’t lift. My voice is gone.
Jameson lingers, savoring every second it takes to reduce me to nothing. And I swear, if my body worked, I’d snap one of his fucking fingers for every second he thinks I belong to him.
His breath ghosts along my cheek just before his teeth sink into my earlobe, hard enough to break skin. I flinch, but I barely feel the pain, just the pop of my flesh giving way beneath his teeth.
“Mmm,” Jameson hums, drunk on stolen power.
His tongue flicks over the bite before he pulls back.
“Damn. You taste good, baby girl.”
Fuck, I’m going to throw up.
I try to yank my arm free. Nothing. My muscles refuse. My body won’t fucking listen.
I’m not drunk. I didn’t drink that much.
Jameson drags me toward the truck.
