My stomach clenches as he confirms my suspicions without spelling it out. "The letters and the flowers... they were... sweet."
They were creepy as fuck. But I can't say that right now, can I?
"Yet, they weren't enough, were they?" Reuben inhales deeply, shaking his head. "What did that asshole punk offer you? He looks at you exactly like all the rest of that trash."
Is that how he sees Smoke? Apunk?
"You were the one who messed with his bike." The words leave with the rest of the air in my chest.
"You were supposed to see him for what he is. An asshole through and through. You were supposed to come back inside, and I would've given you a ride." His face warps with anger. He shoves his fingers through his hair. "I wanted to take care of you, Bunny. That's all I've ever wanted, but all this time, you were playing me."
I hate the heartbreak in his voice, like it’s my fault his feelings got hurt. Likehe'sthe victim, here.
"Reuben,” I start, forcing my voice to sound caring, genuine, even instead of the anger I'm really feeling. "You seem like a nice guy—"
"Don't." The word snaps out of him, and his expression shifts toward rage. "Don't you dare give me that line."
He pushes off the arch, and my body instantly recoils. I can’t even back up, not with the counter trapping me in place.
He doesn't rush. That's what terrifies me most. He stalks toward me like he has all the time in the world, like he's already decided how this ends. Whatever that ending is, I won’t have any part of it.
I don’t wait until he reaches my body. The moment he opens up that archway, I bolt toward it, my heels be damned.
Of course, I barely make it even three steps before he’s jumping at me, ready for my escape.
His arm hooks around my waist like I'm nothing. Like I'm a bag of laundry he's scooping up off the floor. A strangled sound tears from my throat as my feet leave the ground, and before Ican process the motion, my back hits the counterhard. My spine aches, and a pained whimper is what slips out next.
Fuck. Smoke made manhandling me sexy. This is… I want to vomit, and that may be because of the sudden pain filling me.
The edge digs into my spine, and the breath whooshes out of me. He sets me down like he's placing a doll on a shelf, his hands still curled around my ribs, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
My eyes water as the panic immediately sets in, but I’m not about to beg this fucker not to touch me. He’s past that point.
He’s pissed that I don’t want him, and that’s that. Fine, I’m pissed, too.
Pissed that this is the guy who made me feel fear.
My hand moves before my brain catches up, and my nails drag across his cheek—four red lines from temple to jaw thanks to my manicure. He jerks back with a sharp hiss, and for half a second, I see the rage behind his gaze.
Not so sweet now, am I, asshole?
"Fuck—" His hand flies to his face. When he pulls it away, there's blood on his fingertips.
I go for his face again, hoping to take his eye out with my next swipe, but he catches my wrist this time, slamming it down against our reflection.
His grip is tight, and despite his breathing growing heavier, he doesn’t try to hurt me—not on purpose. He does look past me, at the mirror, before cursing under his breath.
“That wasn’t nice.” With his other hand, he lifts it to touch where blood is beading before his expression shifts into something worse. Hesmiles.
Do I attract crazy people, or what the actual fuck?
"You like them bad, don't you, Bunny? Is that it?" Tilting his head, I can see him working out the answers to his own questions in his head. “You like them doing things theyshouldn’t.” Squeezing my wrist, I bet he can feel the way my pulse kicks it in gear. "I can be bad for you."
I think we have two very different definitions ofbad.Thisis bad. Really bad.
If I scream, will it be loud enough to reach anyone? Smoke's busy fantasizing about after my shift while doing what I'd asked of him, so what's the chance of being saved here?
I think I'm on my own here. If anything happens to me, at least Smoke knows how I feel about him.
