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“The exact same thing you were. To get drunk and get laid,” I quip.
A deep growl rumbles in his throat.
“You think saying things like that to me is funny?”
“Why not? It’s what you do, right? Go to parties, get drunk, get high. Screw people on pool tables.” I shrug my arms as if I don’t care.
I do care, though. That’s the problem.
“Don’t get me wrong, Saint. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re two single people. We can do what we want, right?” I look him dead in the eyes.
I know I shouldn’t poke the bear because of how cruel Saint can be. As fucked up as it is, I want his rage. I want him to keep reminding me because the feeling that comes over my body anytime he’s near makes me forget.
“Don’t push me, Lexy.”
I shake my head furiously. “No. You don’t push me, Saint.”
“Does your mom know you’re here?”
“I’m not a pet that needs to be let out for a piss. I can go anywhere I want.”
He lets out a menacing laugh. “Not here. Not in this club.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“It’s yours?” I scoff.
“Yeah, it is, and if my dad found out you were in one of his clubs, he’d fucking kill you and the doorman for letting you in. That would be nothing compared to what he’d do to the barman who served you alcohol.”
Sadly, I cast my eyes to the pavement, slowly shaking my head.
“When is it going to be enough?”
He glowers in frustration at my question. “When’s what enough?”
“You. Isn’t it enough you’re king of the fucking school. Enough that I have to live with you. Share every single space I have with you. And now this…”
“I’m sorry you can’t stand seeing my face so much, but I have news for you, Angel. We own half of this damn town. The hairdresser you love going to. She pays me rent for the premises. The mall you work at. We own it. The school you attend, we own it. That club you were just in. Guess what? We fucking own it!”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I won’t let him see how much they affect me.
“There’s one thing you will never own, Saint.”
“Oh yeah. And what’s that?”
“Me,” I affirm.
He stalks towards me, his face contorted with rage, but his hand on my cheek is gentle. My heart rate picks up speed.
“I may not own your heart yet, Angel, but that doesn’t mean you’re not mine.”
He’s gotten under my skin. That I can’t deny. He’s in my thoughts, my dreams – increasingly consuming me with every interaction. I hate that he has this power over me, over my body.
“You’ll never own my heart,” I say firmly, hoping to push him away, but deep down, I know he’s already claimed a piece of it.
His face drops with a hint of sadness, but he quickly masks it with anger. The sight of his conflicting emotions makes my heart ache.
