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“Fuck!” He stomps over to me, his jaw clenched tight. He’s angry. But I’m not afraid. Of all the people in the world I could choose not to be afraid of, it has to be him.
Once my arms are free, he rubs along my wrists, inspecting the red marks. “Wait here,” he says as he runs out the gate. I pick up the discarded sweats and put them back on. I have to roll the waist over a few times so they don’t fall down.
Grabbing the two sides of the ripped shirt, I tie them together in the middle, creating a little midriff top. Huh, it’s actually not a bad look.
Josh comes back in, holding a riding jacket. He looks me up and down before saying, “Put this on.”
It’s pink, and clearly a female jacket. “No.” I fold my arms over my chest. I am not putting on one of his floozies’ jackets.
“What do you mean no? Put the fucking jacket on, Emmy. You are not walking out of this stable dressed like that. I can see… everything,” he says.
“Really, well then, maybe you shouldn’t have ripped my shirt. I am not wearing that. Deal with it.” I stomp past him.
I don’t get far before his arms come out, wrapping around my waist. He presses my back to his chest, bending his head to talk quietly into my ear.
“Emmy, there is a lot of staff on this property. Some I would hate to lose. But, so help me God, if anyone gets a glimpse of you like this, I will fucking cut their eyeballs out of their head before slitting their damn throats. You’d be surprised how hungry those pigs can get.”
He lets go and smirks. Stepping in front of me, he holds out the jacket again.
“Your call, babe. What’s it gonna be?” His eyebrows raise as he waits for an answer.
“You’re not serious. You’re not going to kill your staff just because they get a glimpse of my stomach.” Even as I say the words, I know that his promises are not empty ones.
“Want to test the theory? I don’t mind. Because at the end of the day, I’ll still sleep at night—with you right the fuck next to me.”
Fuck it, I’m not going to have anyone else’s blood on my conscience, especially someone who’s innocent. Taking the jacket, I put it on and zip it up.
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that.” I stomp past him for the second time in a matter of minutes.
“Yeah, I’ve been told once or twice. But who’s the crazier one here? Me, for being clinically insane, or you, for loving me that way?”
My steps momentarily stop. It’s on the tip of my tongue, to refute his claims. To correct him. Loved. I loved him once, but I don’t anymore. At least, that’s what I’ve tried to convince myself. I don’t say anything. Instead, I huff and storm towards the house with Josh hot on my trail.
