Then, Ethan lets him go, and he and his friends run away from the scene faster than coyotes. That’s the nicest, hottest, and scariest thing anyone has done for me.
Finally, he turns to me. And he’smad.
I'm alone with Ethan, and I know he wants to kill me.
Chapter 6. Liam
Ethan turns to me, grabs the collar of my shirt, and slams my back against the wall, just like he did with Garrett just now. He towers over me, pinning me in a way that is, I have to admit, incredibly fucking sexy but mostly terrifying. My heart pounds so hard I think it will stop. His hand is around the front of my shirt, twisting it into my throat, not tight enough to cut off air but enough to lock me in place, immobile, forced to stare up at him. I raise my eyes to him, and I’m completely aware of the fact that I look like a hurt puppy eyeing his owner. Ethan’s face is inches from mine, and I can see the raw anger in his eyes, the kind that only comes after holding yourself together for far too long. Every muscle in my body is lit with that animal panic.
Some part of me can’t help but register how good it fucking feels.
I’m sure Ethan is about to deck me right there, but all he says is: "Have you lost your damn mind? On your first day, right in front of Griff, do you have a death wish or something? What's your fucking problem?" His green eyes are blazing.
"Sorry, Ethan. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll be good," I say, sounding way more desperate than I intend.
There goes my pride, again, as if I have any left.
He holds me there a few more seconds, staring at me withthose shimmering eyes. I stare back at him, swallowing hard, shivering, and I don’t even remember my own name. When I think he’s going to slap my face, he finally lets go.
"Just so you know, I’m only letting this slide because Griff said so. If it were up to me, I’d drag you back to the room and give you another spanking. But Griff says we need to be patient with you since you’re new here. I disagree. I think we need to show you right away that you’re not just some street thug. You’re here for a reason, and you’re going to learn one way or another. If this happens again, God help your soul, because I won’t have any mercy," he says, dead serious. I'm unable to even think of something to say. He stares at me for a few more seconds before stepping back and barking another order.
"Get the rags. They're in that wooden cabinet over there." He points to a cabinet in the corner of the room. My heart is still racing.
I do what he tells me. I go to the cabinet and find several clean, folded rags.
"How many should I take?" I ask, and once again, Ethan looks at me like I’m an idiot.
"How many people are here, genius?" he shoots back. I roll my eyes and grab two rags. He has already filled a bucket with water from the small bathroom next to the room. Then, he just stands there, waiting for me to get moving.
I really have no clue what I’m doing.
Again, he looks at me, out of patience.
"You really don’t know how to fucking clean? Didn’t your mom teach you anything?" Ethan barks, the words sharp and ugly. Even after so many years, the dead mom comment always feels like a low blow. I keep my face neutral, refusing to let him see the way it lands.
"She didn’t have much time," I say, not trusting myself to look at him. I try to keep my voice even, but it comes out all weird. "She died before she could," I finish, and I can feel the little tremor in my lips. It’s stupid. Usually I wouldn’t even say anything, but I kindawantto hurt him. I want to make him feel sorry. I keep my eyes on the tiles in front of me. I wonder if he knows what it’s like to grow up learning domestic skills from social workers and then, later, from internet strangers. Probably not. Dad is a great guy but also clueless.
When he speaks again, his voice is different, lower and rough, like he’s chewing on his own words.Good, I think. Finally caught him off guard.
"I’m sorry," he says. "That was inappropriate of me." Even his apologies sound formal. What’s up with this guy?
"It’s okay, it’s not like I shouldn’t know how to use a rag, mom or no mom," I say, trying to make it sound funny, but he looks completely taken aback, even now.
He shows me how it’s done, and we start wiping down the mats in silence. We have to be on our hands and knees, which is ridiculously humiliating already.
I can tell he’s really embarrassed by what he said too. At first, I feel good about it because he deserves it, but then I kind of miss the other Ethan. As we work, he keeps his head down, all serious. And I start to feel a bit bad.
“Hey, man. It's really okay. Really, really,” I tell him, trying to make the other sex-God-scary-as-fuck-Mr. I'll-teach-you-to-behave Ethan come back.
"What did she die from?" he asks quietly, still not looking at me.
My favorite question.
"She killed herself," I say, shrugging. I’ve told this to enoughpeople that I’m used to saying it, but I see his eyes widen, and he gets even quieter.
We finish cleaning in absolute silence. My hands are raw from the bleach water, my face still burning with the memory of his hands around my shirt. I keep my head down, obsessed with not looking like I’m trying to impress him, but somewhere between the second and third bucket, I catch myself glancing over at him, and, fuck, he’s watching me too. He looks away instantly, though, but I know he sees that I catch him staring.
He hangs the rags on a small metal rack outside the bathroom to dry and then, still not looking directly at me, gestures for me to follow with his chin.
