His voice drops, low and dangerous, annihilating my space. “You shouldn’t have let him.”
“And you think you get to decide that?” I push between stolen breaths.
He prowls closer, close enough for me to feel the brush of his breath on my cheek. “I think there are lines you don’t cross. And you’re standing right on one.”
“Why?” I breathe. “Because it bothers you?”
“That’s your mistake, Sara. Thinking this is about bothering me.” He lets out a small, low laugh, downright terrifying.
Put him in the looney box.
I don’t answer. Just let the silence fall as my eyes don’t drop from his, waiting for his next move as he’s completely devoid of emotions, and I’m trembling inside at the thought of what this little chess game is turning into. I can feel my head spin and I’m soon to beg for air in my lungs. His eyes flicker as if he’s enjoying my struggle. Fucking psycho.
“Wh-why Liam are y-ou doing this?”
The puppy whines softly between us, finally breaking the spell, and I take my first hungry breath, convinced I need to take his threats seriously.
He steps back, leaving an emptiness that is unthinkable and unhealthy to even consider, shattering the charge in the air without diffusing it.
I feel something.
Hell clawing at my bones.
I bend down to grab the leash, but his foot doesn’t move.
“Can you move your foot!” I groan, pulling on it.
His eyes darken. “On your knees.”
My eyes widen.
“And beg me,” he says slowly.
I straighten up. “You’ll be the proud owner of two other dogs before I get down on my knees and beg you, Liam.”
“No, I won’t.”
Three words drowned in hostility are apparently all I need, because I lower to my knees, and his gaze sharpens into something idiotically cruel.
“Say, please.”
“Please, Liam, your fucking highness, give me my dogs back.” I grit my teeth.
He laughs and removes his foot from the leash as his finger brushes my chin. “Good girl.”
“Stay out of trouble, Sara,” he hisses, and turns to walk away down the street, the puppy tucked tight and silent, but it sounds less like advice and more like a dare. I stand there, shaking, the scent of cigarette and fresh rain hanging in the morning air.
The sun hasn’t even cleared the roofs yet, but I already feel like the day is over. I know he hates me, I know he wants to blame me for Joe crashing his bike, but the humiliation is clawing at my bones… and hatred doesn’t explain the way he looks at me.
The bell above the boutique door chimes in that obnoxiously cheerful way it always does, and Mimi groans as if it offends her.
“Please tell me you brought coffee, or I will straight-up fake my death to get out of here.”
“You called me in, and at the sound of your voice. Here —” I push a coffee to her lips I was hiding at my back. She squirms with happiness as I place my purse under the counter.
“I thought you were dying.”
“I am dying,” she says, flipping a rack of overpriced linen skirts with enough aggression to wrinkle all of them. “From boredom. There’s a difference. Death-by-lack-of-drama is an under-reported epidemic. But now you’re here!” She throws her arms around my neck and almost makes me lose balance.
