AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He knows what I’ve known all along. I can’t clean up a mess this size on my own.
“Tick tock sweetheart,” he says, chuckling softly. His eyes are like fire, in both color and intensity. Flames dancing merrily in his irises.
The lump in my throat swells, threatening to block off my air supply.
I’m a stubborn woman. Always have been. But I’m sure as hell not a stupid woman.
“Okay.”
The flames dance harder. “Okay, what?”
My nostrils flare. “I need you to make this all go away.”
He licks his lips. Oh, god. “You want me to help you?”
“Yes,” I snap, biting off the end of his question.
Slowly, he retreats, mocking eyes never leaving me. That smirk, it’s hardened now, and I see it for what it really is. A cruel, thin line. He leans back against the desk, drinking me in.
“Then beg me.”
“E-Excuse me?”
“You heard me, sweetheart. Get on your knees and beg me for help.”
I absorb his words. Blink. Then a cocktail of anger and humiliation bubbles under the surface of my skin. Like hell am I playing this asshole’s game. “Fuck off,” I hiss, stomping toward the door. “I’ll take my chances.”
His laugh is deliciously cold. “A pretty girl like you wouldn’t last ten minutes in Bedford Hills Correctional.”
With my hand already on the doorknob, I pause. It’s my turn to laugh. “You know nothing about me. Believe me when I say I’m more than a pretty face. I’m more than capable of defending myself.” I jerk my head toward the body on the bed. “Case in point.”
He’s silent. Still smirking with his perfect teeth stretched over his bottom lip.
“You’re wrong about not knowing anything about you. I know one thing.”
He pauses dramatically, waiting for me to take the bait. Somewhere in the distance, sirens whir again. They are louder this time, like an alarm clock, telling me to wake up and get the hell out of here. But my feet are rooted to the spot.
“And what’s that?”
“When you get angry, you can’t think straight.”
With a snort, I whip back around and twist the doorknob. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m right,” he says breezily from behind me. The desk groans as he heaves himself up from it, then his heavy footsteps slap against the marble as he approaches the bed. “Case in point,” he mocks me. “You didn’t plan this attack. You lost it. You clawed at every inch of his skin with your fingernails. Then”—he stoops by the headboard, observing the blood splatter against the oak like a crime scene investigator—“you smacked his head against this headboard, again and again. If I was to guess, the second blow knocked him unconscious. But you kept going.” He looks up at me, satisfied with his conclusion. “Because you got angry and lost it.”
“He attacked me first. It was self-defense.”
Kind of.
He taps his bottom lip. “Any judge worth their salt would throw the book at you. Here’s another example, sweetheart.” He gestures toward me. “I told you to beg for my help, and that made you angry.”
“I won’t get on my knees for a man,” I growl back.
He ignores me. “You got so angry that you tried to flee. But you’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking as straight as a fucking ruler.”
“So tell me, sweetheart, why would you leave here, in nothing but a tiny towel, covered in your victim’s blood?”
