by Hazel Grace
“It’s called fireworks and a gas tank,” Mills offers, popping two chips in his mouth that don’t hinder his sly smirk.
My lips curl on their own. “You’re impossible and inappropriate. You’d scare everyone around, what if there were babies or kids?”
“It’d be pretty.” He lifts his shoulders, twisting the bag for me to help myself again. “Imagine all the colors it’d make.”
“In the middle of a fast-food parking lot?”
He laughs while chewing. “Imagine being at the drive-thru window, and all of a sudden, there are a few loud cracks and then—boom—explosion of color.”
“It’d scare the crap out of me.”
“But, you’d never forget it.” He knocks into my arm lightly before jamming his hand in the blue bag for more.
“You’d be to blame for people peeing their pants and having heart attacks.”
“Live a little, Cinderella.” He glances at me. “You could use it.”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t know what I’ve done prior to this.”
“Yeah?” He pops another chip between his lips. “Like what?”
“Well...I...”
Can’t think of a single thing.
“Have you ever stolen before?”
I snap my fingers. “Yes.”
“What was it?”
“A library book.” Mills loses it, leaning forward as he dies of laughter at my expense. I knock my own arm into his, but he only gets louder. “Stop laughing.”
“Damn, Cinderella,” he quips. “You’re a rebel.”
“I’m not—”
“Shhh,” he transmits as our show comes back on, and he holds up his index finger. “You can continue your story about killing a roly-poly next commercial.”
I huff, but he doesn’t tease me anymore, not that I care. Judge Judy awarded the plaintiff money allotted to him for the vandalism minus twelve dollars because he never paid for his food the last time he was there.
Mills claps his hands together loudly at Judge Judy’s pettiness. “This broad is cold-blooded. I haven’t watched her in forever. What time does this come on?”
“Oh no, I’m not getting in trouble for your binge-watching. I’m in enough of my own.”
“It’s called Google, Cin, I can find the time. I forgot how hilarious this reality TV shit is. She reminds me of my grandma.”
“Then maybe you can Google how to get your head out of your ass when you should be working,” Emric drones behind us, making me jump in response to him creeping up on us.
“Geezus fuck,” Mills solicits, hand on his chest. “You scared the fuck out of me and almost made me waste this bag of chips.”
I snicker, covering my mouth to keep it from growing. Mills’s company may have been unwelcome, but he was a good distraction for today.
“And imagine if I was someone else.” Emric shows up in my line of sight, standing directly in front of me and the TV. “I would’ve killed the fuck out of you.”
Slowly, I bring my gaze up to his peering down at me with a stern expression on his face. His eyes are hidden under his cap, so there’s that, but I can still tell that he wants to kill us both.
Oh, wait, like old times.
“Come with me,” he commands, before striding back from where he came. “And put my fucking chips back, Mills.”
His angry thuds from his boots allude that he’s not in the mood, and the slamming of the side door only confirms it as well.
“He’s pissed at me,” he conveys, sticking his hand back in the Dorito bag. “Don’t let his attitude intimidate you. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
I fidget with my fingers, inhaling a deep breath because I didn’t want to deal with this today. His moods, the way he dampens the air in the house with his oppressed attitude.
“Hey.” Mills gives me a light tap on the knee. “Chin up. You’re a boss bitch, act like one. Not many people could function like you are after the bullshit you’ve gone through. Go see what the asshole wants, then come back in here so we can binge.”
He offers me a weak grin with his words that don’t help the spraining of my gut as I rise.
I can only imagine what Emric wants now.
He has this way of making me anxious in a millisecond, and I don’t have a defense built up for that yet.
I didn’t have a lot of what I have now since Emric.
I’d like to think that I’m a little braver. That I can do exactly what Mills just said—I can function.
He’s correct, I can.
Still don’t want to deal with Emric’s bipolar mood swings.
Outside, I find Emric cutting wood off a large tree trunk, clearly getting some pent-up aggression out of his body.
And for what reason, I have no idea, but I’m sure it has something to do with his sour frame of mind.
When he notices me approaching, Emric stalls his next swing and props the ax over his shoulder. “I have some news for you.”
I clasp my hands together, keeping a careful and lengthy space between us. Especially since he’s in a great position to swing that sharp object in my direction.
I’ve watched baseball and what he can do with a bat.
“Do I need to shout it across the yard, sweetheart, or are you going to come closer so I can tell you?”
Okay, so maybe I have more than a lengthy space in the middle of us. It’s more like the distance between Pluto and the sun.
I inwardly groan, eyes still locked on what’s in his hand. He’s preached that he won’t harm me while being here, but...there’s a blinking red light in the back of my head that’s warning me to yield.
Noticing my hesitation, he promptly drops it. “Better?” He extends both hands in the air to show that he’s not armed with anything else.
When I move, he mocks my steps until we’re within arm’s length of each other. But when I think he’s going to come right out and tell me, he just stares at me, flicking his eyes everywhere around my face.
“What is it?” I ask finally, anxiety brimming through my head. “Did something happen?”
He frowns, casting a more serious look on his face. “I let your dad go today.”
My eyes expand. “What?”
“He’s receiving medical attention—” He shoves his hands in the front pocket of his jeans as I blink away the burn of tears forming. “—and he can go home probably in a few days.”
“Is he okay?”
What did he and his men do?
“He’ll survive.” I open my mouth, but it trembles in response to the news. A mixture of relief and worry clamors through my brain, but he’ll live. He won’t die in that dingy warehouse Emric took me to.
Emric kept his promise to me.
“I—thank you,” I quip, blinking back waterworks. “It means more to me than you’ll ever know.” He bows his head but remains silent, obviously not wanting praise. “But...aren’t you afraid of him...going to the cops?”
“Um, no.”
My brows knit. “Why? He could—”
“He got a warning, Stormi. Trust me when I say, he won’t be running to any pig to file a report.” I bob my head, not understanding but not going to push the matter anymore. “Now, let’s talk about you and Mills.”
“Huh?”
“My man and you,” he repeats, erasing more space between us. “All comfy and cozy on the couch a few minutes ago.”
Comfy, and what?
“Did I see you guys sharing a snack too?” The corners of his eyes crinkle, appearing to need final confirmation of what he believed he was seeing.
Which wasn’t more than what I already said.
“We were watching Judge Judy.”
“And what?” He actually perks a brow like we got busted making out or something. I mean, if you consider Mills going to second base with the Dorito bag, then sure, however, I was just a bystander.
“Stop,” I deadpan, brows snapped together because this is stupid—plain and simple.
“Stop,
what?” I inhale a deep breath, turning my face away. “I know what he did.”
My face scrunches in return.
“He made you food, brought it downstairs when I was gone.” His thumb grazes my skin. “Made sure you had a blanket to keep you warm. Your pretty little face isn’t going to get you what you want here.”
“And what would that be?” I challenge back.
“You tell me,” he coaxes. “Besides going home, which you will eventually. Just not now and not without me taking you there.” I start to pull my face from his touch, but it only locks around my jaw before hauling it closer to his face.
“Why are you freaking out and holding my face like this? I wasn’t groping the chip bag.” I’m hoping I get a smirk or him loosening up on his hold, but his expression remains blank.
“This isn’t freaking out. You don’t want to see me get there, sweetheart, but trust me, you’ll know when I do. Stay away from Mills,” he warns, his tone carefully articulate. “And everyone else but me.”
The alpha male has come out to play.
Except I’m not his to play with.
I don’t bother suppressing the huff that seeps through my lips because he’s the last person I want around. No matter how he can get my heart to accelerate or what words pierce through his lips, he doesn’t own me. He may babysit or “protect” me as he so kindly puts it, but I’m not his.
And no amount of antagonizing or glares that he sends my way is going to change that.
Emric cocks his head to the side to accompany my silence. “Not happy with that idea?”
“Not really, I didn’t ask for a babysitter, Emric.”
“You’re in a new world, sweetheart. Surrounded by demons and monsters that like shiny and bright things. You’re luring in the bait, and one of them may bite.”
“Mills isn’t going to bite me. And, again, we were doing this little thing that normal people do—watch TV. If you find that scandalous—” I size up his face. “—then you need to come to the real world and not the dark, scary one you imagined in your head. You’re becoming delirious.”
“And you’re becoming more of a pain in my ass, but here we are.”
My lips set in a fine line. “Then let me go home.” His eyes narrow, setting off a tick in his jaw, making the black ink of his neck tattoo move.
“Listen,” he mutters, the tone of his voice deepening. “I’m trying here. I went against my own plans and let your father off because you’re so worried about him. But I’m not going to have you manipulating my—” I snap out of his hold with every ounce of strength I possess and broach backward.
“What do you think I was doing?” I fume. “Again, I was watching TV. You set up Mills as my babysitter, which I don’t appreciate, by the way. Just because you know some of my past doesn’t mean I’m a slut who—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he seethes. “I don’t think you’re a whore nor do I—”
“Yes, you do.” My eyes narrow in on him. “You think because you saw Hollis molesting me that I wanted it. Funny thing is, so did he. My father’s friends did too. They thought they could lift my shirt up, haul me into their bodies so I could feel how hard they were for me. They’ve busted my bedroom door open while drunk trying to get to me. I’ve had to climb out my window to escape. My being quiet, was obviously some sort of neon sign that they could—”
“I said shut up.” Emric balls his hands into fists at his sides as we face off against each other for the first time.
The sheep and the lion.
The good versus evil.
But his judging and crucifying me is going to end right here.
“No—” I point at him. “You shut up. You don’t know me or the things I’ve had to endure. You obviously don’t know anything because I’m still here paying for a crime I didn’t commit. And you think letting my dad go makes you able to speak to me like I have to listen to you. Well, guess what, I don’t.”
His hard chest bumps into mine, warning me to watch myself and keep my mouth shut, but I don’t believe he has it in him. Not when I can see all the guilt that consumes his eyes and the way he attempts to keep the edge out of his tone when speaking to me.
Except for now.
“You do have to listen to me,” he leers. “Because I’m keeping you safe and—”
“I’ll take my chances outside of here, thanks. Now that Dad is back, I’m going to pack up my stuff and—”
“And fucking what? What do you think you’re going to do in the outside world with no money or—”
“I guess I’ll just whore around on the couch since I’m so freaking good at—” His hand seizes my throat and backs me up until I’m against the wooden logs that make up his house.
He sandwiches me in between them and his hard body. His frame pressing into mine, the smell of his cologne permeating my nostrils and his mood, it’s suffocating the air around me, not his weight.
I’m pushing the buttons on a ticking time bomb. I’m challenging a man who doesn’t get questioned from the likes of how he acts.
Emric lowers his head to my face, quickening the blood rushing through my veins. He fastens his hazels to my blues and my lips part, ready to scream, yell, or counter anything he has to say.
However, I’m not sure how successful I’ll be. Emric has a weird way of compelling my body to suspend. It’s different now, not so much in fear, as it is the way he feels. His hard muscles and the touch of his rough fingertips send waves of something throughout my body that I can’t explain, but I don’t cower from it.
I want it.
He makes me focus, listen, react. Creates a new sense of life blossoming within my soul to go out and conquer the world. A reminder that I only have this one life to hold and make my own.
“If you were a whore, sweetheart,” Emric asserts, his tone dripping with peril. “I would’ve fucked you long and hard already. But since you’re not—” He releases my throat and uses a crooked finger to lift my chin higher. “—I’m going to make sure that no one, not even you, is going to get fucked under my roof.” His finger brushes off my chin. “Now, take it back.”
I hold onto his stare.
“Now.”
He can’t hurt you anymore.
“Or what?” I press, letting my eyelashes fan my face once but keeping the defiance in my voice.
I might fall under the category of “innocent”, but my game plan is to score a one-way ticket out of here.
“Don’t taunt me, sweetheart,” he drones. “I’m not Mills. I won’t fawn over you or cuddle with you afterward, and I sure as hell won’t check in when this shit is all done.”
I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands to keep them from landing in his ribs.
I am brave, I’m learning to be. He’s just a man who made a mistake and...kills people.
I swallow, soaking in his anger and letting it fuel my own. “Then it sounds like Mills would be the perfect candidate if I wanted someone to keep me warm at night.”
“Watch your next words—” Emric brushes a piece of my hair away from my face. “—there are consequences for everything you say or do.”
This gentle-pissed approach is more than likely the reason why this man can only screw his neighbor and not keep a relationship.
“And what will you do? Get another bucket out?”
“I have something else in mind.”
Okay, I’m not that courageous.
“Would you like to know what that is?” I mindlessly shake my head. “That’s what I thought.” He gives a piece of my hair a nice little tug before withdrawing away from me. “You’ll do what you have to do when you get out of here, sweetheart, but it won’t be with your legs open. And it sure as fuck won’t be with Mills, Hollis, or any other fucking scumbag. Because while you’re here, you’re mine.”
I’m a fucking asshole.
Stormi was beginning to get more comfortable with me, and I shot it all to hell when I lost my shit. It was bad enough that I’ll always be
labeled the douchebag, but now Mills gets to reap the rewards of being the “nicer” one of us.
Because he isn’t the one who stabbed her, flipped a truck over with HER in it, threatened her time and time again to the point where the word animosity towards her silence is the understatement of the year.
It pissed me off.
I couldn’t even enjoy the pureness in her eyes when she thanked me for letting her father off the hook. I was too busy recalling how they were sharing a snack together and chatting it up like they were old friends.
Nope.
Couldn’t soak it in because I was raging inside to the point where the idea of claiming her played out in my brain a few times like a damn animal.
She’s not mine.
And she sure as fuck won’t be Mills’s either.
A hard slap to the back of my head uproots me, directing my eyes to Bishop, scowling at me.
“You need to get your head screwed on straight,” he leers, face distorted like he’s nauseated by my presence. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Go fuck yourself, number one,” I bite out, returning to stacking the wood I’ve been cutting for the last hour. “And two, don’t tell me what to do. This is my shit.”
“Yeah, your shit that we’re taking the time to help you with.”
“Again, didn’t ask you here. You keep inserting yourself there. You need something else to do?” I toss him a piece of wood. “Go make a fire, then jump in it.”
“I’d be a bit more appreciative of your friends.”
I tsk. “We gonna get into a fight?” I wave him off. “I’ll talk to you in a few days then.” The piece of wood that I just gently slung at him, it hurls into my spine.
My feet pivot on impact, and I’m on him, landing a punch to the side of his face and following up with a jab to his ribcage.
Being Bishop, he kindly lets me have the first two hits, ramping up to fuck someone up.
That someone up is going to be me.
With at least thirty more pounds, more muscle mass, and two inches taller, Bishop is what Reagan calls the Hulk. Paint this asshole green, and you’ll have one hell of an Avenger fighting crime and terrorism for the government low key.