“I’m taking you home,” he says.
“Who said I’m going home?” I snap, my voice rising. “Who said I don’t have a ride?”
He turns, then. “Who said it was a question?” He grabs my arm, his fingers a steel clamp, and starts pulling me toward the tree line.
I rip myself free. “What do you think you’re doing?” I yell, shoving at his chest. “I don’t answer to you.”
I think he’s going to shout back. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a slow, shuddering breath, trying not to explode all over me. “You don’t have to like me,” he says. “But I’m not letting you tank your future just to make a point.”
“Oh, sure. Let’s pretend this is about my future.” I laugh sarcastically. “You really think everything revolves around you, don't you?”
“Of course not,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Good! Because?—”
“I know exactly what you’re doing,” he cuts me off.
“And what’s that?” I challenge.
“You’re self-destructing. You’re trying to burn it all down so you don’t have to feel anything.”
I scoff. “You’re unbelievable. Have you ever considered that maybe—just maybe—the world doesn’t move around you? Of course not. You’re a St. Clair. You were born thinking you get to dictate the terms.”
His shoulders tense like I’ve just hit a raw, exposed nerve. “Say that again,” he warns.
“Why?” I fire back. “Truth bothering you? Or are you afraid someone might see you don’t actually get to control everything?”
A voice cuts in from somewhere behind us. “Damn, ballerina, why cover those pretty legs? We were just starting to enjoy the show.”
Laughter ripples through the trees, a chorus of hyenas. Jax’s head snaps toward the sound, his entire body going rigid. “Shut up,” he growls. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
“Relax, man,” someone else says. “Didn’t know she was property.”
My pulse stumbles.
“Jax, stop,” I say quickly, grabbing his arm. “Don’t?—”
He’s already moving. I grab his arm again, my fingers digging in. “Don’t do this.”
He spins back to me instead, fury blazing, breathing hard like he’s got nowhere to put it. “You think I’m the problem?” he snaps. “You think they get to look at you like that?”
“I don’t need you to protect me!” I yell, my own voice shaking with anger.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he fires back, his face inches from mine.
“Yes, I do!”
“Not tonight,” he says. “Not like this. Not when you’re throwing yourself away.”
“You don’t own me!”
Something in his face breaks. He grabs me roughly and backs me against the side of a parked car before I can finish the sentence.
“Stop acting like you’re trying to disappear,” he forces out. “I can’t fucking watch you do this.”
My heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
“Let me go.”
