"You don't…" he starts.
"Try me." I pull him closer. "Harry is my dear roomie, and I've been watching him. Every client he has in this place. You go near Liam again, you breathe in his direction, you so muchas look at him across the cafeteria, and everything I have on you goes to Griff's desk before breakfast. Do you understand me?"
He nods, frantic. I release him with a shove. He hits the floor. Before he can get up, I kick him, hard. He makes a sound like a hurt dog. I'd have stepped on him too, but Liam grabs my arm. I want to kill Garrett. I wouldn't mind watching the life leave his eyes right here on this concrete. But Liam's hand is on my arm, and I stop.
Garrett bolts. Then it's just my breathing and the slow drip of Liam's blood hitting the floor.
I turn to him.
His chest rises and falls. Bruise forming on his jaw where Garrett's fingers dug in, dark against pale skin.
"What the hell are you doing here?" My voice comes out raw. I feel him shiver. Good. I grab his arm.
"I-I'm sorry, I finished the mats. Was heading back, and he came at me. So, I stayed. He had it coming, Ethan."
"So, you decided to fight him. In a storage room. Alone."
His jaw tightens. Blood on his chin has reached his collar. "I'm not a coward."
"No, you're a fucking idiot." Hotter than I intend. "You should have walked away. Screamed for help. Anything. But you chose to throw punches?"
"I hit him," Liam says, breaking into a smile. Proud of it. "Did you see? I actually hit him!"
"I saw." I pull him toward the door. He stumbles but doesn't resist. "You're coming with me."
"Where?"
"My office."
"For what?"
I don't answer.
We move through the corridor; my hand locked around his arm. His shoulder bumps mine. He tries to steer away. I don't let him. Neither of us speaks until we reach the door to my office.
I push it open, take him inside, lock it. The only door I can lock in this whole institution. My favorite door. I turn to him. He looks like a trapped puppy. I lick my bottom lip. My breathing is off.
"You know why we're here," I say.
"Because you're a control freak with a savior complex?" Delivered flat, but his hands are trembling at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling.
"Because you can't follow a single instruction. Because you're self-destructive. Because, yes, you were the victim, but you could have made better choices. You never do, do you?" He swallows hard. I watch his Adam's apple move. "Come here." I take my chair and sit.
He doesn't move. For a moment, I think he's going to bolt: go through the door, down the corridor, into the courtyard, and the whole thing becomes an incident report instead of something manageable. Something between us.
But he doesn't run. He walks to me, a little reluctance, only a little, and when I take his wrist and guide him down across my lap, he doesn't resist.
I'm hard. Rock-solid. He's going to feel it. I don't care. His smaller frame fits against mine like it belongs there. His ass is round, even through the shorts. He's sweaty and smells like testosterone and musk.
I shouldn't notice that. I notice it anyway.
"This is so stupid…" he tries.
"Quiet."
I pull down his shorts and briefs. The bruises from yesterday are still there, faded to yellowish green. He's hard. I knewhe would be.
The first smack lands. His body jerks against my thighs. His hands scramble, find my ankle, grip. He hisses through his teeth. I know he's sore. I won't go too hard, but he'll remember.
