“Careful, baby.” His low, almost wounded rasp stings, but I hide it.
I have to.
This is too much.
And he’s a liar.
I’m a fucking toy, not good enough to look in the eye when he touches me.
Not worth the sight of desire.
A dark, dirty, damaged little secret.
My head falls back on a mocking laugh, and his muscles grow tenser.
I lock my eyes on his.
His gaze narrows, and my god, the pain in his harsh whisper. “Don’t.”
But I have to...
“Look at you.” I shake my head, speaking slowly in an attempt to keep from slurring my words. “Showing up tonight and acting the part of what, exactly? The disrespected wannabe alpha? Is your pride bruised?” I lean into him and his body twitches in anger.
“I know you get jealous. I see it in your eyes when I lay my head on Arsen’s chest, or when I smile at Beretta. Your jaw gets tight, like it is now, and you—”
“If you really think I don’t trust them with every fucking thing I own, I am, and I’ll be, you’re mistaken,” he hisses frankly. “There is no rift in our water and there never will be.” His eyes shift between mine. “But what about you, hmm? Is the ground beneath your feet starting to shake? Is your ocean on the edge of a tsunami, ready to spill over until all that’s left is a mess of broken parts?”
“Screw you.”
He acts as if I didn’t speak. “Better be careful, Trouble, you might want to run soon. You wouldn’t want Scott to realize how you like extra whipped cream on your coffee, or how your toes curl in your heels when you’re nervous or anxious... or wanting.”
My pulse jumps in my throat. “Shut up.”
“You wouldn’t want him to notice the way your lips curl left when you fight a smile, and how you love it when—”
“I saw you” rushes from my mouth, the need for him to stop talking higher than I’ll admit.
It works, distracting his train of thought.
His mouth slowly closes, and his eyes grow quizzical.
I steady my breathing and summon a bitchy carelessness I struggle to find. “In the park, with the blonde. And I know you fucked Amy.”
As if his body is dropped in arctic waters, his limbs lock up, freezing him in place, and the struck state he’s in, the shock and lack of denial makes it easier to continue.
“You clearly have a type and maybe I’m just not it, being a brunette and all.” I blink obnoxiously. “I might be wearing a dress you gave me, but I’m not yours.” I shake my head, the alcohol helping keep my expression blank. “I could never be yours.” I grin like a wicked bitch while my mind screams even if I want to be.
I want to be.
But this isn’t real, it’s a game. He plays games, I learned this day one.
“You should go.” I nod, pushing him away, but he doesn’t move an inch. “You don’t belong here.”
His jaw clenches and in the distance, it’s easy to hear the guys rushing back this way, there’s stomping all around, coming from both sides, from behind him.
I lift my chin, summoning every ounce of strength to keep it from trembling. “Get out of here, blackout. This isn’t your world.”
Something flashes in his eyes and I wait for him to be cold and callous, to go for the throat and drag that metaphorical, jagged blade straight across.
That is what I hope for, what I want, but I don’t get it.
I get something much, much worse.
He gets in my face and he stares me dead in the eye, somehow, though he wears his glow-in-the-dark contacts, it’s my favorite shade of blue I’m staring into.
“You’re right,” he rasps, his fingers discreetly, subconsciously, playing with pieces of my hair. “This isn’t my world, but if you think mine isn’t where you belong, you’re dead fucking wrong.”
I suck in a desperate breath, and then I gasp as Ransom shifts, grips the railing and hops over the side.
I scream, bending to look over the ledge.
He’s gripping the crossing bars beneath it, using them to break his fall. He drops to his feet with ease, and not a second before Scott, along with every other guy here, is surrounding me in an attempt to grab him.
But again. They’re fools.
As if they didn’t get them all to the bottom as they wanted, when they wanted, and got them all back to the top just the same.
Beretta appears, and while it’s dark, and all you can spot is the glow of their eyes, I know he grins at Ransom’s side.
He flips them off as they scream and shout at the ‘punks’ below, but they keep on walking toward the end of the property, where Arsen now stands, waiting.
Ransom turns, facing this way.
He tips his head and I know he’s looking at me, and only then do I realize Scott is behind me, his arms locked on the railing at my sides.
Ransom pulls something from beneath his hood, and everyone gasps when a blue flicker glows in the distance.
He doesn’t hesitate but cocks his head to the opposite side as he lights the vines on fire and panic begins all over again, but this time, for real as the dry branches go up in flames in an instant.
My hands fly to my mouth and by the time I look back to where the boys had stood…
They’re gone.
The fire department arrived within seven minutes and Scott and the others, all intoxicated, were somehow able to use the well water on the land to stop the spread, or so they continue to boast.
Really, they’re lucky Ransom chose the row he did. The outer row, where the wind blew opposite of the others and was located closest to their water supply.
This could have been bad really, everyone is drunk and has been drinking for hours already, so they’re idiots for what they did.
It was reckless and dumb and could land them in jail.
Everyone here likely assumes they don’t care, but I know that’s untrue.
I don’t know what the hell Ransom was thinking tonight. This could be bad for him; it could screw up a lot more than I know.
But I try and force myself not to care, while also eavesdropping as much as I can when the officers ask around for statements.
So far, nobody has given one of merit.
It was too dark to see...
By now, most everyone has gone home, and my sister and Tanner have just pulled up, but I don’t make it to the curb before Scott is slipping in front of me.
His eyes are pinched tight at the edges, but his touch is gentle as he grabs my left hand, my heels dangling from my right, and pulls me into him.
I lift the corner of my mouth and his free fingers glide into my hair.
I tense, my body hating the feeling of another’s touch there, but my mind screams it’s no big deal, that it shouldn’t be. He either doesn’t notice, or he pretends not to.
“Thanks for being my date tonight,” he says.
I nod. “Kind of funny, how I only texted you last night and you still didn’t have one.”
He smirks. “I had one, just had to wait for her to realize she did too.”
A low laugh leaves me, and I tip my head slightly.
“I was hoping you’d stay, planned for it really,” he admits.
“Yeah, I think you’ll be busy for a while.” I motion toward the firetrucks still lining the street, finishing up whatever it is they have to do.