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“Fucking waste of space,” Warren grits out as we enter the trailer to find Mitch passed out on the couch.
“Maybe you should check on him.”
“Nah, let him rot for all I care.”
“Warren!” I know things are bad between them, but it’s still his dad.
“If you want to play nurse, by all means...” He glances over at the couch with disdain. “Be my guest.”
With a little huff of frustration, I go and check on Mitch. He’s facedown, half hanging off the threadbare couch. But his chest is moving, and I can hear the liquor sloshing around in his stomach every time he breathes.
Fetching the bucket I know they keep under the basin, I place it down beside him.
“You know it’d do us a favor if he choked on his own tongue.” Warren stalks toward me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Then we’d have this place to ourselves. Just you and me.” His eyes darken with lust, and I fight the wave of fear rising inside me.
I knew this would happen.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful, Ken.” He brushes his knuckles over my cheek.
“What did you do today?” I ask, trying to distract him.
“You really want to talk now? If I didn’t know better, baby,” his brow rises, “I might think you’re trying to avoid me.”
“What?” I frown, shaking my head. “Of course I’m not. I just... I have cramps.”
“It’s shark week?”
“Seriously?” I hiss.
“What?” Warren chuckles, and it makes his eyes crinkle. It al
most makes him look like the boy who asked me to be his last year. The boy before all... all this.
Warren has always been intense. Possessive with a quick temper. But it wasn’t always bad. I didn’t always have this giant pit in my stomach, waiting for the next time he loses it.
When I think back, things deteriorated right around the time Conner’s mom died and we found out they were moving to Sterling Bay with James. Warren started to explode at the smallest thing. He’d be fine one minute and the next he’d lash out. It only got worse as time went on. He’d love me one second and then punish me the next. Fists, teeth, hands, Warren knew all the ways to make it hurt.
“PMS is the worst,” I say, hoping to God my period comes soon.
“Aww, you need me to look after you?” Warren smirks. “I know just the thing.”
“Later, yeah?” I muster the best smile I can. “I need to start preparing dinner.” Moving around him, I inhale a shaky breath, but Warren snags my wrist, yanking me back to him.
“Did Jagger hurt you, baby? Is that why you’re stalling?”
Oh God.
My stomach twists.
“Warren, I’m not—"
“It’s been weeks, baby. I need you, Ken. Don’t you want me?” He leans down, ghosting his lips over mine.
“You know I do.” The words splinter my already fractured soul.
I don’t want Warren.
I never did.
