Page 24 of Fueled Hate

“Which one?”

“Fourteen,” I respond.

She peeks around the partition, spotting Kyle and Andrew before looking back to me. “No prob.”

“Thanks so much. I owe you one,” I say.

“Nah. I still owe you for recommending your dad’s shop. He literally saved me a small fortune on the repairs.” She grabs two cups of ice water and heads to the table.

Dad had mentioned he didn’t charge Carrie for labor on the repairs because he knew she was short on funds. I need to remember to thank him again because trading off Kyle’s table was definitely helpful.

Getting back to my remaining tables, it’s easy to avoid glancing over to Kyle with how busy the place is. I deliver a few plates and refill drinks for a couple of Carrie’s tables to help with the extra load I passed off to her. I’d take every one of her tables to avoid the one of mine, so it was more than worth the extra trips.

Kyle is nowhere in sight when my shift ends, but I don’t want to risk an ambush, so I hurry to my car and drive off. Hopefully, he got the hint with my blunt statement last night that we’re done.

I’m not far down the road when my car starts shaking. As I slow down, I realize I have a flat tire. Another flat tire. Glancing around the area, I’m almost certain I’m in the same spot as I was the other night. The only difference is it was dark and raining then. Now, it’s bright and sunny, but there’s a sinister feeling swelling in my gut. What are the chances?

Hitting the button for my hazards, I survey my surroundings as I step out of the car and glance to the tire. The same tire is flat. Again. A leaky valve stem was the problem the first go-round, which I was assured had been repaired at the tire shop after I finished up with classes on Wednesday. I’d debated holding off until I could get home and to my dad’s shop, but it was a few-dollars fix so I went ahead and had it done, relieved that I didn’t have to completely replace the tire. That might be the best route to go this time if it’s the valve stem again.

Reaching into the car, I pop the trunk to retrieve the spare. At least it’s not raining and I’m not in a dress this time. I grab the spare and am rolling it over to the side of the car when I spot the black Subaru pulling to a stop behind me. The same general spot he’d parked in last time. This is not a coincidence. None of it is.

Dylan emerges from his car, stopping a few feet away as he asks, “Need a hand?”

“Did you do this? Did you mess with my tire?”

“Why would I do that?”

Stomping forward, I close the distance between us. I’m sick and tired of his weird ass lurking around. Insanity. He’s literally making me feel insane. “Why the fuck do you do anything that you do?”

He doesn’t respond, just stands there with a ridiculously smug look on his face.

“Leave now. I didn’t need your help last time, and I won’t need your help the next hundred times.”

As I turn back to my car, a harsh grip seizes my elbow, spinning me around to press my back against the side of my car, it happens so fast I don’t have time to process anything until Dylan has his body flush with mine, pinning me to the door, stone-cold eyes staring into mine.

“Dylan? What the—”

His hand raises, rubbing his thumb across my lip as I lose my words. What the hell is going on with him? I should fear this crazy person who has me trapped against my vehicle. Instead, he’s just pissing me off. Do any of these morons have boundaries?

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

“I thought you were different.” His voice is low, but there’s nothing soft about his tone. He brushes his thumb along my jawline, rubbing it over my neck as he leans forward, causing me to press even harder against the car, though I’m unable to put any more space between us.

“Get out of my way,” I say, keeping my voice as stern as possible. I’d let my guard down, started to trust that he wasn’t some crazy person who’d murder me on the side of the road. And he may not be a murderer, but he’s an out-in-the-open, in-plain-sight crazy person nonetheless.

Threading his fingers into my hair, he tightly grips as he says, “You’re in my way.”

Fucking lunatic. “What are you talking about? You have me pinned up against my car on the side of the damn road after I just so happen to have another flat tire. But I’m in your way?”

“I finally figured it out. What turns you on. What gets under your skin,” he says, leaning forward to brush his lips against mine. “You need the hurt, the pain. You want someone who treats you like shit. Someone who bails on you, humiliates you. Why is that, Sadie? Why do you take it and keep going back for more? Are you going to keep coming back for more when I do it?”

“No. You don’t know anything about me, and you need to get the fuck away from me now.”

He lets out a devilish chuckle as he says, “I know a lot more than you think, but you’ll figure that out soon enough.”

I don’t recognize any part of the charming guy who brought me coffee. The kind, out-of-place stranger who offered to help me with my tire in the rain. I don’t recognize any part of that person. Even if I didn’t know Dylan well, I thought there could’ve been something good or different inside him. “I thought you were different too, but you’re not. You’re just another spoiled, little rich bitch who thinks he can take anything and anyone he pleases without having to ask permission or accept consequences. But let me make one thing clear: I’m not up for grabs. I’m not following through on some asinine bet that I never agreed to … and if you don’t get your fucking hands off me right now, I’ll show you exactly how I’ll get you out of my way.”

His amusement becomes more apparent. “You seem uptight.” He rubs his fingertips along the bare skin of my arm. “I’d bet it’s because he’s selfish in every way, taking just as he pleases. I’d bet you don’t know what it feels like to be worshipped, brought to the peak of pleasure and savored all the way back down. Has he ever made you come, Sadie, or does he get his and leave you to take care of yourself?”