Of coursehe noticed my car. I tighten my grip on the basket. “Yeah. I’m just here grabbing a few things.”
He steps closer carefully, like he’s afraid he might spook me. “You haven’t been answering my calls.” His voice doesn’t sound accusatory. It just sounds… sad. Which makes me feel even worse.
I wince. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Did I do something?” He asks, and the genuine confusion in voice makes me want to scream.
No, Josh. You didn’t do anything. You’re perfectly nice and safe and everything Ishouldwant.
The problem is that a month ago I met this killer who won’t leave me alone and yesterday I ended up dry-humping him so hard, I almost came all over him.
“No.” I say honestly. “You didn’t.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me?” He steps closer, and I can see him trying to puzzle me out. “I thought we had something good.”
We had fine at best. Every kiss we ever shared was utterly forgettable.Nothing like what I have with Echo.
I catch the thought and mentally shove it away. I don’t have anything with Echo. Just a weird sexual attraction I need to get out of my system.
“I’ve been thinking.” I say carefully. “And I don’t think it’s fair to keep seeing you when I know this isn’t going anywhere.”
It’s not the full truth, but it’s the closest thing to it that won’t make this completely awkward.
His face falls. “Because of what Nate said? Because I swear, I never called you?—”
“It’s not about that.” I assure him, even though it’s partially about that. “I just—I can’t give you what you want.”
His brow knits. “But all I want is you.”
“No.” I say, shaking my head. “You want someone who can love you back. You deserve that. I can’t. I won’t. So it’s better if we just?—”
“Let me decide what’s better for me.” He says, cutting me off. There’s an edge to his voice I’ve never heard before. “I’m a patient man, dollface. I’m willing to wait.”
He reaches out for me instinctively, and when I feel his fingers close around my wrist, my world tilts.
His hold isn’t hard or violent. It’s barely even pressure. But my body doesn’t care about that distinction. My chest tightens and my pulse roars in my ears as dark memories slams into me all at once.
Hands holding me still. Hands deciding for me. Hands that wouldn’t let go.
“Josh stop—” I start, but my voice fractures, and his hands stay locked firmly around my wrist. He’s saying something to me, but I can’t hear anything beyond the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Then suddenly, Josh isn’t touching me anymore.
He’s gasping, his face contorted in pain as his arm is pried away and twisted behind his back at an angle that makes my stomach churn.
I look up.
Echo is here, standing right beside me, holding Josh’s arm with what looks like minimal effort.
The look on his face is the same one he had in the alley. Cold. Lethal. And cruel. He looks like he’scalculating exactly how much force it would take to break Josh’s arm and deciding if it’s worth the spectacle.
For a split second, my brain tries to latch onto the other version of him. The one from last night. The one from my phone who checks in on me and asks questions and makes my heart flutter.
Then I look at the expression on his face again, and a cold feeling slithers down my spine. This isn’t the man who was in my room last night. This is the one from the alley. The one who stood over four bodies without flinching. The one who raised his gun and smiled at me like it was some kind of game.
Texting him blurred that image. Softened the edges. Made him feel…safer. But this, this is the real him.
I tighten my grip on the basket, using it as an anchor.
