Page 49 of Fatality

I notice more piercings, silver earrings, a lot of them.

Three hoops, maybe, and two silver helix piercings climbing his ear.

I should not be noticing details like this. Is this really the moment?

No.

So why is my brain choosing now to catalog things I normally wouldn't give a damn about?

My breathing accelerates. I'm so close to his neck, I need to calm down.

Or I'll probably sink my teeth into it and wrench sideways until he's bleeding out.

He settles me back onto my feet.

I wince slightly the second they hit the ground, probably from the shock of the impact. I know I don't have anything broken, just maybe a couple of bruises.

But his hands stay on my hips, lingering.

What the actual fuck?

He tilts his head and leans closer again, invading my space like he has every right to be there.

“Can you walk?” he asks, his voice low and rough, “or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?”

“Wh-What...” My voice finally comes back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

I shove against his chest—or at least try to.

The man is a complete fucking mountain compared to me.

He barely moves.

If anything, his grip on my hips tightens in response.

I yelp, feeling the warmth of his hands seep through the bones of my hips.

When I look back at him, he's smiling. He's actually smiling.

Did I say something funny?

“What is wrong with me?” he repeats slowly, like he's genuinely considering the question.

His hands tighten slightly again on my hips.

“Letting some little bitch drive you into a street race where one wrong move gets people killed.”

He leans even closer.

Far too close. Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off his skin.

“So, tell me,” He murmurs, his glowing eyes locked on mine, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me—" I cut myself off, staring at him in complete disbelief. “You're the one who crashed into us!”

My voice rises despite the shock still choking my lungs.

“You're a fucking psychopath!”