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My hand moves faster as my brain clouds over, and I give in to the rush. I’m so close, so desperately, dangerously close. Why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? I just need to get it out. Whatever it is that he’s done to me will be gone … in just … a few … more … seconds.
Relief crashes into me, along with that terrifying nothingness. My muscles lock up as I come, head tilted back as I beg for it to end, and I swear my dick just keeps going. The high is so fucking good, but the second it releases me, it’s washed away with a flood of cold panic.
What the fuck was that?
I shove away from the door with a savage exhale and strip out of my clothes. I’d gone to Sasha’s tonight to see if I could find any evidence of the occult, and I’d gotten it. Now I know the signs to look for. No letting him get close, no eye contact, none of that bewitching voice.
I’m going to keep my distance.
If it means locking myself in my fucking cabin, I’ll do it.
I’m waiting for them the second they pull up out of the front of my house. Sasha climbs out of the passenger door, but before he can take a step, I hold up a hand. “Get back in the truck, rabbit.”
Surprise takes over his face.
“You’re not working here today.”
I catch Wilde’s interest enough for him to step out as well. “He still has debt to work off.”
“Then he can do it literally anywhere else.”
Wilde thinks for a moment, gaze darting between me and Sasha before he nods toward the fields. “Go.”
“I just said—”
Sasha scurries off before I can finish my sentence, and he’s back to being the meek, fragile little thing he’s always pretended to be—with one key difference. My knife at his waist.
My hand reaches for a handle that isn’t there, and I curse everything that happened last night again.
“Why does he have your machete?” Wilde asks.
“Lapse of judgment.”
“And why do you want him gone?”
“Because he’s a danger to the End.”
Wilde snorts and points in the direction Sasha disappeared. “Him? He’s a danger?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question is a trap. I know what Wilde thinks of my theories about Rooney, and maybe he’s been bewitched, too, or just hasn’t heard the old stories that I have, but this conversation won’t go well. He wouldn’t last a week back where I came from.
A cunning smile tugs at my lips. “You’re going to be sorry if you don’t listen to me.”
“You haven’t given me anything to listen to.”
“I’ve given you more than enough warnings. Outsiders can’t be trusted.”
He scoffs and starts back to his truck. “This again.”
“If you leave him here, I’ll be forced to kill him.”
That gives Wilde pause. “You can’t murder someone just because you don’t like them.”
I choose my words carefully. “He … poisoned me last night.”
