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She may not be as easy to break as I originally thought. I smile darkly, my flatlined black heart beating once at the prospect of the only thing I enjoy.
A challenge.
I release her with a shove and she stumbles back a couple steps.
My jaw is tight and my muscles corded as I pull my shirt off by the back of the neck and toss it at her. She catches it with a glare in my direction.
“I want that dry cleaned and returned to me by Monday.”
She throws it back at me.
“Do it yourself.”
I laugh humorlessly, balling the shirt up as I step towards her. She holds her stance until she physically can’t any longer, stumbling back against the wall, trapped.
My arm comes up to rest above her head as I bring mine down an inch from her face.
“As you wish.”
I drop the balled up shirt at her feet and take a step back from her. “Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”
With those parting words, I head intoBella’s, Rhys and Phoenix on my heels.
I don’t look back to watch her go.
“You want to tell us what that was about?” Phoenix asks.
“She ruined my shirt.”
“You could buy that entire store tomorrow.” Rhys chimes in. “Actually, it’s not that I don’t enjoy staring at your shirtless chest while I’m about to have a meal, but we can go now if you need, mate.” He says, throwing a hand in my direction as I drop into one of the booths, shirtless.
“You’ve fucked a girl while I was in the room eating and you’re going to play the prude act?”
“Yes, but that was different.”
“How?”
“I’m the one eating now.” He says with a grin, and I lob a bread roll at his head.
“She didn’t listen.”
Anger slams back into me as I recall the way she’d tossed the shirt she’d dirtied up back at me.
Like she wouldn’t do what I fucking said.
I was going to neuter that little rebellious streak in front of the whole school, and I’d take sick pleasure in doing so.
“God forbid someone doesn’t.”
Phoenix watches our exchange silently. That fucker’ll probably seething over his run in with Sixtine for the next day.
“She’s fucking American.”
Rhys’ mouth twitches and he nods.
He knows how I feel about anything related to America. It’s where my mother ran off to when she abandoned her nine year old son. It’s where my dad spends ninety eight percent of his time. And he’s a real piece of shit so I know that place is rotten to the fucking core.
I’d needed to grab her throat when I heard her accent. To feel her heartbeat pulsing madly against my hand, knowing that I could put a stop to it at any moment.
