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One moment, I’m laughing at Harry’s antics, the next, I’m pulled back by a savage grip on my waist.
I slam against a hard chest as an all-encompassing presence looms over me.
Creighton’s fingers dig into the fabric of my dress at the waist as if he’s intending to burn it and engrave his fingerprints on my skin.
My head whips up to get a glimpse of his face. There’s no trail of blood now, no soot or impurities over his criminally attractive features.
There’s darkness, though, the slow, simmering type that could and would transform into a hurricane.
Despite my resolution to stay away, malevolent butterflies erupt in my stomach with the intention of devouring me from the inside out.
It’s unfair that he’s in his usual jeans and hoodie but still looks straight out of a fashion show. It’s even more unfair that he has the superpower of snatching my attention without even trying.
“She said to let her go.” His deep voice is laced with a timbre of anger and I shiver, even though it’s not directed at me.
Harry, who is forced to release me, seems oblivious to the tension and merely gawks at him. “Oh my, hi there, handsome. Didn’t know you actually talked. And we missed you this whole week! Wait a minute, do you only come for Anni?”
My lips part. Don’t tell me Creighton hasn’t been at the shelter when I wasn’t around?
Instead of answering him, Creighton basically drags me with him to the small nook I use as an office, leaving Harry behind.
“Nice talking to you!” he shouts behind us. “And don’t forget about our deal, Anni, or I’ll sacrifice you to Jesus and start calling you Nika.”
“Don’t you dare!” I glare at him over my shoulder.
He just makes a face, grins, then forms a hole with his fingers and slides the index finger of his other hand in and out of it in a suggestive way.
My cheeks heat as Creighton pushes me into the room and slams the door shut behind us.
All the embarrassment is forgotten when his chest crashes against mine.
My feet falter backward until I hit the wall. I open my mouth to speak, but even that is put to a halt when he grabs my hands and throws them above my head against the wall.
The deep gravel of his voice reverberates on my skin when he whispers too close to my face, “I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’ll answer them, Annika. Lie to me, and you’ll be punished. Are we clear?”
13
ANNIKA
The longer I stare into Creighton’s eyes, the more my breathing shatters and splinters into pieces.
Harsh eyes.
Completely-devoid-of-emotions eyes.
I’ve always seen him as detached, with ice in his veins instead of blood, but this is the first time I’ve witnessed it firsthand.
And that iciness? It’s currently seeping underneath my skin and hooking against my darkest part.
“Are we fucking clear, Annika?” The lethal sound of his voice hits my skin like a whip.
I can’t help the slight jump in my shoulders or the dryness in my throat, despite my attempts to stand strong.
Swallowing, I nod slowly.
“You have a voice. Use it.”
Tchaikovsky.
