“I said?—”
“No.”
I stepped closer until there wasn’t even an inch between us, our bodies pressed together, though he loomed over me.
“Call me a fucking dog one more fucking time.”
He didn’t back up. Instead, he lifted his chin, glaring straight into my eyes.
“I said,” he repeated, quieter this time, “you are a goddamn bitch with a bone.”
I smiled, but not because I was amused.
I was furious.
“You don’t know the first thing about me, Pig.”
“I know you’re a freak who doesn’t know when to stop.”
“Neither do you.”
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us looked away.
For the first time, it didn’t feel like we were two strangers arguing in the damn woods.
It felt… personal. It was like we’d been looking for a reason to hate each other long before tonight, and now we finally had one.
He didn’t let go of my hoodie, and I didn’t let go of his jacket.
Neither of us seemed interested in being the first to step back.
“You’ve got a real fucking hero complex, don’t you?” I said. “Poor Piggy can’t save everyone.”
His grip tightened, telling me that it had struck a nerve.
Who didn’t you save, cop?
“You’ve got a real problem with hearing the word no, don’t you, Jailbait?”
I laughed under my breath. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I think you saw a drunk guy and figured he’d be easy.”
The accusation landed like a punch to the gut. I wasn’t interested in raping some idiot. I was throwing him in the cellar for Natalie to sell him. Simple as that.
Something ugly twisted in my chest, and I couldn’t place the emotion.
I clicked my tongue and tried to think.
It wasn’t guilt.
I was insulted.
“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”
“I know exactly what I saw.”
