Page 138 of Dream On, Liar

“Where is it?” he snapped, stepping further in.

The flat suddenly felt too small to contain him.

“I don’t have any cash on me—I swear,” I said, and hated how thin it sounded.

His jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me.”

He moved again.

Closer.

My back hit the wall before I realised I was retreating.

There was nowhere else to go.

My hand moved on instinct, reaching the phone that had dropped on the floor.

A stupid, automatic hope.

His eyes tracked it instantly, and everything in him changed.

He lunged.

I barely had in it my hold before it was ripped from my hand.

“Wait—”

The word didn’t finish as he slammed it into the floor.

The sound was sharp, final.

Once.

The screen fractured instantly, a web of cracks spreading like something alive and dying at the same time.

Again.

Harder.

The casing split.

Plastic and glass scattered across the floor like something had been torn open.

My breath stuttered.

“Please,” I said, and didn’t recognise my own voice.

He didn’t even look at the phone anymore.

Like it had already stopped mattering.

“Where’s your wallet?”

“I can’t give you money. I seriously don’t have cash, but my cards,” I said quickly, too quickly, words tripping over each other as I made a move to grab my bag. “Just—just take it, it’s fine—”

“You should’ve done that before.” He replied, shoving me to the side as he ripped my bag out of my hands.

The impact drove me into the wall again, pain blooming instantly across my shoulder, down my spine, sharp enough to steal thought from me.