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I was ready to kill him to keep this secret from her. It was to protect her, though. Not because I was hiding my past or who I was. I just wanted to protect her from the truth. She was too innocent to know what really happened. She wouldn’t understand. Knowing I’d been with other girls would hurt her, and I couldn’t handle that.
The kid scrambled to his feet and stumbled down the steps, his hand around his throat as he glanced over his shoulder. I should go after him. I should make sure he doesn’t tell anyone about it. I should make sure he doesn’t go to the Dean.
But Winnie’s hands were still on me, and they felt so good. They felt so right. So I stayed on the floor and watched as he shoved the door open and slipped out the door, letting it click shut behind him.
“What was that?” she asked, her voice still shaky. “Why did you—why did you do that?”
My throat was too dry, and it took me a few tries before I could swallow. Pushing to my feet, I twisted my hands together, trying to calm my nerves. What was that? Before Cassandra, I didn’t know I was capable of deadly violence. But it was like ever since I bought the gun, something inside me opened up, and the idea of killing someone to protect Winnie was the only solution to all my problems. It was the only thing that made sense.
What else was I supposed to do? Let him destroy us? I couldn’t allow that. She’d never speak to me again. And if she ignored me like she had been, I didn’t know what I’d do. All I knew was that I’d lose it. I’d use that gun on everyone who was a threat if I had to.
“Come with me,” I croaked, my voice hoarse. I didn’t sound like myself. I didn’t feel like myself. It was like I was floating above my body, watching us walk to my office. She was behind me, her head down and hands wrapped nervously around the strap. I knew it was what she did when she was nervous or uncomfortable. It wasn’t always a bad thing, but right now, a pit in my stomach told me it was. That she was weighing everything she’d just seen and heard and was trying to figure out if she should run or not.
But I couldn’t allow that.
I shoved the office door open and ushered her inside, locking it behind us. I leaned against it and watched as she paced in front of me, muttering to herself.
“Winnie,” I breathed, but she ignored me. Every step, every movement—I watched everything. “Talk to me.”
“Talk to you?” She let out a manic laugh. “You just choked someone, Emmett!” She threw an accusatory hand to the side, her gaze burning into mine. “I can't believe—what was he talking about? What rumors?”
“I don’t know,” I lied, but I knew she didn’t believe me.
“What rumors?” she pressed. I hadn’t seen her so defiant before. A part of me was proud of her for finding a backbone, but a bigger part was pissed that she was finding it with me.
“I don’t know what he was talking about.”
“Then why did you—why did you attack him?”
“Because he was talking to you.” Her lips parted in shock, but I didn’t care. Everything I’d felt when I first saw him talking to her came back like a tidal wave. “What part of you’re mine do you not understand? You belong to me.”
“And that means I can’t talk to a friend?”
“Is he your friend?” I asked, pushing off the door. “He asked you on a date. Do all your friends do that?”
“He didn’t ask me on a date,” she snapped, lifting her chin to glare up at me. “He asked if I wanted to go to a party this weekend after the game.”
“Sounds like a fucking date me.” I moved closer to her, so close her perfume wove around me in a thick fog, clouding my mind. “Were you going to go?”
“I don’t know,” she sputtered. “Maybe. Why not? It’s not like we’re anything but?—”
“Careful,” I warned.
“Or what?” She took a step toward me, her chest brushing my stomach. “You’ll choke me, too?”
“You’d like it too much if I did.” A breath left her at my words, but it was true. We both knew it. I dipped my head, bringing my lips to her ear. “I’d bend you over my desk, lift that little skirt of yours, and spank your ass with my belt. You don’t talk to boys. You don’t look at them, or tease them, or play with them. You ignore them and keep your eyes on me. Do you understand?”
“You don’t own me,” she said, but the words were breathless, and by the blush on her face and chest, I knew she was almost as turned on as I was.
“Yes. I do.”
She rested her hands on my chest, and I smiled to myself. It was almost too easy, making her forget about everything that had just happened, letting her fall straight into my arms. There was no struggle or fight with her. She was just so desperate for my love and affection that she was willing to ignore everything so I could give it to her.
So when she shoved me away, I wasn’t prepared, and I stumbled, almost tripping and falling. But I caught myself at the last moment and stared at her, shocked.
“No,” she spat. “You don’t. No one owns me.”
That’s what she was so upset about? Me owning her? Not that I’d just choked someone or was probably too overbearing and possessive of her. She didn’t care about everything else I’d done and said. She cared about ownership.
