"Let go of me."
"No."
She tries to wrench free.
I hold fast, my fingers tightening around her wrist, feeling the delicate bones shift beneath her skin.
She's strong—soldier strong—but I'm stronger.
And I've been dreaming about this moment for years.
"I will scream," she hisses, and her breath is hot against my face. "I will go down there and tell every single person what you've done?—"
"And they won't believe you." I stroke my thumb across her pulse point, feel it jump and stutter beneath my touch. She shivers. Tries to hide it. Fails. "I'm the town's golden boy. I'm the one who saved the library and funded the fire department and paid for little Timmy Gentry's college education after his father died in the explosion. Do you really think they'll take the word of a woman they haven't seen in eight years over mine?"
She knows I'm right.
I can see it in the way her face crumbles, the way hope dies in her eyes, the way her body sags against the railing behind her.
It should make me feel guilty.
It makes me feel powerful.
"Why?" Her voice breaks on the word, and the sound of it—small, wounded—does something to my chest. Cracks something open. "Why do all this? Why go to these lengths? You could have anyone. Why me?"
"Because you're the only one who ever saw me." I release her wrist, cup her face in my hands instead. Her skin is silk beneath my palms, warm and soft, and touching her feels like pressing my hand to a live wire. "Everyone else sees the mask. The performance. You saw through it from the beginning. You saw the monster, and you didn't look away."
She's trembling now. I can feel it against my palms, feel the war raging inside her—the part of her that wants to run and the part of her that wants to stay. The part of her that hates me and the part of her that wants me anyway.
I know that war. I've been fighting it for eight years.
"I hate you," she whispers.
"I know."
"I will never forgive you for this."
"I know that too."
"I will find a way out of this cage. I will tear you apart. I will?—"
The first firework explodes overhead, showering the sky with red and gold.
She flinches. Instinct. Combat reflexes.
I use the moment.
I step into her, press my body against hers, trap her between my chest and the cold stone railing.
I can feel every inch of her now—the softness of her breasts crushed against me, the rapid rise and fall of her breath, the heat of her bleeding through our clothes.
She fits against me like she was made to be here.
"You can fight," I murmur against her ear, letting my lips brush the shell of it, feeling her shudder at the contact. "I'd enjoy it. I've been looking forward to it. But we both know how this ends."
She's rigid against me. Every muscle locked, every breath controlled.
But she's not pushing me away.
