Page 32 of Smoke

He loosens his tie, slides it off, and throws it on the table before stalking back into the living room.

Oh, no you don’t. You don’t get to just insult me and then walk away.

I chase after him, stomping hard across the hardwood floors so he can hear my rage as well as feel it. “Maybe if you dicked someone down once in a while you wouldn’t be such a son of a bitch. Is that what your problem is, Omen? Did your mommy not love you enough? I think maybe that’s why you hate women so much.”

Omen backs me up against the wall until we’re nose to nose. “You’re a fucking brat.”

“And you’re an asshole.” I try to skirt around him but he’s got me boxed in.

He pins my wrists above my head. “You better watch what you say to me, baby girl. You got Scar and Hawk wrapped around your little finger… But I’d rather break mine before I let you sink your claws in.”

I hate him so much and yet I don’t. Fuck me. “Fine. Whatever. Let me go.”

“Only if you ask nicely. Say: please, let me go, sir.”

“Fuck you.” I try to get away again, but he’s not budging.

“Say it, Cherry. Please, let me go, sir,” he repeats. There’s a sadistic gleam in his eye. A twinkle of amusement as he humiliates me.

“No. I will not. You don’t deserve my respect.” If this man thinks I’m going to submit to him, he’s crazier than he looks right now.

Omen presses his thumbs hard into my wrists. “You know, just because you have a cunt, doesn’t mean you should act like one.”

I’m going to kill him. Well, when I get free. “Fuck you, Omen.” I gather a huge wad of saliva and spit in his face. It lands on his upper lip.

He licks it off then slams my wrists hard against the wall. He hovers his wet lips over mine, close enough that we can feel each other’s breath. “You’re nothing but a piece of white trash with no friends, no man, and no fucking self-respect. Shit, even your own daddy barely likes you. Your pussy is the only thing you’re good for. Well, according to your brother.”

The white-hot rage that flows through my veins surges. I spit again, this time landing a decent size glob on his cheek. “You don’t know shit. Fuck you and fuck your tiny fucking dick.”

His nostrils flare as he goes for my throat. He grips it tight. “Lick it off.”

Fucker shouldn’t have let me have a hand free. “Go to hell.” I slap him hard against the side of his head. He doesn’t move a fucking muscle. But my spit slides down his face. Fuck.

He grabs his pistol from behind his pants and jams it under my chin, forcing my head back against the wall. “Has anyone ever made you cum and cry at the same time? Hmm? Hit me again and I’ll show you what that’s like. I’ll make you fucking hate yourself.”

My stomach turns. Shit. I’ve gone too far. He’s unhinged. I think I’m gonna have a damn heart attack.

“What, no smart ass reply? Not as tough as you look, are ya? You think you’re such a badass but you’re nothing but a pathetic little slut with—”

“Shut the fuck up!” I scream in his face against my better judgement. “Did you forget you take orders from Hawk? You’re a glorified bodyguard. Clearly he trusts Scar more with the business. Looks like you’re the pathetic one now.”

His grip tightens around my throat and his pupils dilate, so black they bleed into his irises. “One of these days I swear to god, Cherry… Fuck.”

For a split second I think he’s going to kill me. To squeeze the life out of me until my eyes bulge and I suffocate to death. Or put a bullet in my head. But he lets me go with a huff and stomps off.

I should let him go. I should walk away too. But I can’t help myself. I’m fucking heated, and I don’t like him getting the last word.

Within seconds, I’m hot on his heels and cursing as I chase after him. I follow him all the way down the hall but stop before crossing the threshold into his bedroom.

He sets his gun down on the bedside table next to a diamond-encrusted watch. “If you take one more step inside this room, I’m not going to let you leave until I’ve punished you for disrespecting me.”

I need to walk away. But instead, I’m shaking with rage as I take another step forward and invade his private space. “You can wave that gun in my face all you want, but I don’t cry.”

He stalks over, reaches behind me and slams the door shut. And locks it. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

My heart races as I watch him retreat back toward the dresser. He picks up the gun and holds it casually. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

There’s an odd energy between us—rage, hate, and something else… I don’t think he’ll shoot me, but I absolutely believe he will stick the end of that gun in my mouth. Or even between my legs…