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The look in his eyes is murderous when I catch a glimpse of him over my shoulder as I walk deeper into the darkness. It’s thrilling in a way I never thought I’d like.
I bite down a scream when he grabs me, trying to fight a smile when he spins me around to face him.
He doesn’t say a word, and the giddiness quickly fades as his eyes dart between mine. It feels like a test, like he’s analyzing me in an attempt to figure me out. The scrutiny scratches at my skin, the judgment something I could probably handle from anyone else but him.
He’s danger and darkness, having a hint of evil in his eyes that I’m certain isn’t just a defense mechanism. His ability to tie four people to chairs without blinking an eye says a lot about the man. He doesn’t conform to society’s norms. He doesn’t give a shit about what others think. I want to be like him. I want to be able to walk around, not giving a shit about anything, without having to drink to get myself there. I want to be able to shut off the voices in my head that are always worrying about others. Ayla has Nash so there’s no point in caring about how she’s doing. The people at school, other than Blakely, haven’t even checked on me. Blaine’s attempt earlier probably had more to do with him being jealous on some level that Donavan was spotted in my dorm than anything else.
“What are you doing here?” I snap, craving the grip of his hand on my face like he’s done so many times before.
He grabs me, but his hands are clamped on my biceps, and he doesn’t attempt to pull me against his body.
I try to wiggle away from him, but he’s just too strong.
“What the fuck did you take?” he growls, his eyes darting between mine.
“Nothing,” I lie, attempting once again to get away from him.
The man probably kills people for a living. What right does he have to question the tab of ecstasy I took in the back of the Uber?
“You’re putting yourself in fucking danger,” he hisses through his teeth.
“Ayla lived her life worried about danger, and she still got hurt,” I spit at him.
He doesn’t even look at the guy that comes walking in our direction.
“Nice,” the guys says, his own voice sounding slurred, but it could very easily be the shit in my system. “Can I get a taste when you’re done with her?”
I keep my eyes on Donavan, watching his jaw flex in irritation.
I roll my head on my shoulders and look toward the guy. He’s absolutely disgusting with dirty clothes and a stench coming off of him that tells me he probably hasn’t seen the inside of a real shower in weeks.
“I was hoping to get railed by both of you at the same time,” I tell him.
“Nice,” the guy says again, rubbing his hands together as if he’s just won a prize.
I nearly crumple to the sidewalk when Donavan releases me without warning.
“Remember this is your fault,” he tells me. In the next breath, he has a knife in his hand.
He moves forward, seating the thing fully into the guy’s chest. The sound the blade makes when he pulls it from the guy’s body is sickening, but all I can do is stare as the other man crumples to the ground, his eyes wide and already lifeless.
Donavan bends, wiping the knife on the guy’s filthy clothing as if he didn’t just murder him for no reason.
Tears run down my face, like I’m only now realizing how damn dangerous he actually is. My head shakes as if I’m trying to understand my reality, but I can’t manage words when he grips my arm and drags me further into the darkness.
By the time he’s shoving me toward the passenger side of his truck, I’ve convinced myself that it didn’t happen. People don’t just kill people in the middle of nowhere with no warning. My first time taking drugs will obviously be my last because I can’t handle imagining stuff like that.
“Let go of me,” I hiss.
“Gladly,” he returns, opening the door and shoving me inside.
My head dips, and when I lift it, we’re already moving, his truck sailing past street signs and flickering lamp posts.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.
His fingers are gripping the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead.
I clear my throat, considering I didn’t say it loud enough. I repeat myself, but it still doesn’t draw an answer from him.
“You’re being childish.”
He scoffs.
“You’re not my fucking father. You have no right to drag me to places because you don’t like how I’m acting. I’m not a child.”
He still stares straight ahead, only looking over his shoulder to merge on the interstate.
