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Chapter17
Skyla
“Take your hand off of me.” I dig my fingernails into Zak’s sun-bronzed skin, but he only scrunches the fabric of my robe tighter in his fist.
I can’t let this happen to me again. If I get sucked into his sexy, smoldering undercurrent again, I may not make it out alive.
Heat pools between my legs when Zak presses his chest into me, backing me into the kitchen island. A corner of the marble countertop jabs my hip bone, but my biggest concern right now isn’t physical pain.
If I let him touch me, he will reduce me to the hot mess I became four years ago, the one who fled the city for college so I could get away from him and bury the memories of our sinful, forbidden night together. It was definitely one I’ll remember forever, and not because of how otherworldly and incredible it was to finally be with the guy I’ve been in love with for as long as I can remember.
It’s because I was naïve enough to think that it could become more than just one night… that he saw me as more than just his best friend’s dorky sister, more than a bookworm who was more focused on reading human anatomy books than kicking back and having fun like all the other girls vying for Zak’s attention.
But if I was as smart as I think, I’d have seen through his bullshit façade. Zak Malikov is a manipulative bastard who used me like a paper napkin and then threw me away when I was covered in his filthy, dirty lies.
“You’ve grown up, baby girl.” The rough timbre of his voice hums against my cheek, and my eyes involuntarily float closed.
No, no, no! You can’t let him get away with this!
My eyelids fly back open, my mind screaming bloody murder while my back arches and hips thrust against his. Blood bubbles in my veins, simmering with pent-up lust.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck. A shiver explodes down my spine at his rough touch. He pulls my head back. My knees buckle as his demanding fingers tangle in my hair. Something clatters on the marble countertop behind me.
Zak’s eyebrows furrow mid-tug. “What was that?”
“I don’t know, probably a hair pin or something.” My heart bounces in my chest, pumping like I’m in mid-sprint.
Don’t stop…
He peers over my shoulder and reaches for whatever fell out of my hair. To be honest, I don’t even know how there’s anything left after the day I’ve had. And fuck whatever it is for interrupting us.
“What the hell is that?” he mutters under his breath, holding whatever it is in his hand. I peek up at it.
“I told you it was a hairpin.”
His lips press together in a tight line, eyes narrowing to slits when he examines it up close. “It’s not a hairpin.” He turns and walks into the living room. There’s a table set up in the corner. His back is stiff as he stalks over to one of the drawers and pulls it open.
I let out a deep sigh of defeat.
And thank you, fucking loose hairpin, for completely ruining the mood.
“What are you doing?”
But what my body really wants to ask is, “Why are you not doing anything tome?”
I spot a hairpin in his fingers. He sweeps his hand over it and lets out a groan. “Those bastards.”
“What is it?”
Zak looks at me and dangles the pin in front of his face. “Someone put a GPS tracker on this thing. I saw it when it hit the counter. That must be how those guys found us.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Who other than Tyson would have done that? And if it was Tyson, he’d have come to get me, not hire those other guys to kidnap me, or worse. The one who threw me in that truck was very clear about wanting to get revenge on my father and the Van Dynes.”
Zak holds the hairpin between his fingers and goes back into the kitchen. He rummages through another drawer and pulls out a hammer. With his stormy gaze locked on my face, he pounds the shit out of the hairpin, the tracker reduced to bits in less than a second.
And of course, he leaves them in a messy pile on the counter. Doesn’t even sweep them into the trash.
He slowly advances toward me. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
