By the furious look on her face, the question is rhetorical, so I keep my mouth shut despite wanting to slam her up against the wall, take her mouth with mine, spread those legs of hers with my knee, and…
“Are you even listening to me?”
Fuck. No, no I’m not. I’m too busy imagining fucking you.
“You’re an asshole, Samuel. An asshole I want nothing to do with. An asshole I don’t want anywhere near me, my house, or my family. You’re an asshole, just like your father.” She huffs out a breath as she folds her arms across her ample chest, making her breasts push up to the top of her dress. I suck in a breath.
“Well, I’ll give you the thing about my father—heisan asshole. But me? Seriously, Patience, I’m really not that bad once you get to know me.”
Her eyes go wide, and her cheeks go red. If she were a dragon, she would have set me on fire by now. Thankfully, she’s just a really angry, super-hot girl who hates my guts.
She goes to slam the door again, but my foot is still there, so it bounces back open. She lets out a squeal of annoyance that makes me grin. Fucking grin. Like I’m a little kid watching Wile E. Coyote get blown up by one of his piles of TNT intended for Road Runner.
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” I state, poking the flames some more. I just can’t fucking help myself.
“Oh my God, go away! Just go away.”
She turns and storms inside the house, leaving the door open. I guess she’s hoping I’ll take the hint and fuck off, but I’m Samuel “The Machine” Gunner. I push the door open wider and follow her inside.
I find her in the large kitchen, pouring herself a glass of her father’s whisky, then throwing the shot to the back of her throat. Damn, the girl can drink, and she likes whisky too—my favorite. She’s almost too good to be true. I have a feeling it’s going to hurt me just as much as it hurts her when I break her heart.
“Can I get one of those?” I ask, startling her.
She spins around and stares at me, the bottle in one hand and her empty glass in the other. “How did you get in here?”
I laugh lightly. “I’m not a vampire, Patience. I don’t need to be invited in. Besides, you left the door wide open. I just assumed you wanted me to follow you.”
She splutters something and shakes her head, and I have to hold back my smirk. She opens her mouth to talk, and I hold up my hands in surrender.
“All right, all right, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry!”
“Yeah.”
“Do you even know what you’re sorry for?”
I have a feeling it has to do with the night I kissed her under the tree and called her and her mother a slut, but it’s more fun to play dumb than admit my faults. I stay silent for too long, and she turns away and pours herself another drink.
“Just get out, please,” she says, her shoulders slumping in surrender. “Please, Sam, I just need you to go.”
I take a step toward her, but I know if I push her now, I’ll break her. I’m holding all the cards here, she just doesn’t realize I’ve opened the deck and started playing.
I’m not the good guy, and I’ve never claimed to be. I’ve surrounded myself with rage and darkness, embracing the hateful side of myself for so long, it’s become a living thing inside me.
I frown and turn around, heading back out of the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, I look back at her. She puts her glass down, her hands flat on the surface of the counter, and looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes glistening with tears.
It hits me then. Like a bullet to the stomach.
I know what I have to do, but it’s something I don’t do. Not ever. At least…until now.
The Elite better be worth it.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, dragging a hand through my hair. “For whatever it is I’ve done to upset you, I’m sorry, Patience.”
As the words leave my mouth, I realize with surprise I actually mean them. The look on her face the night I called her a slut still haunts me all these years later. I turn away from her, but her voice stops me from leaving. She mumbles something that makes me turn back to her.
“What did you just say?” I ask.
