Page 50 of Unlocked Desire: Vol One
“It’s nothing,” she whispers, moving away from me.
Not happening. I grab her and pull her to me, holding her captive in my arms.
“That’s not nothing, Little Bird. I’m gonna ask you one more time. Who the fuck did that to you?”
Chapter 9
CLARISSA
Vance’s grip on my arms is firm, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s how a parent might hold a belligerent child—gently, but he wants me to know he isn’t messing around.
I sigh, casting my eyes down. There’s something about Vance that makes me want to run both to and from him. The man is an enigma with a well-fortified web, and I am caught right in the middle.
“Look at me, Clarissa,” he demands, lifting my chin.
I’m lost in the deep blue of his eyes. The man is a work of art. His face is perfect in every way, matching the muscular frame of his sculpted body.
“What are you gonna do to him?” I stutter, my words failing me.
“Kill him.”
Vance says those words like I’ve asked a stupid question. To him, it’s the only solution. But the real shocker is that I wouldn’t care if Vance killed Roy. He deserves it after everything he did.
I only have one objection to Vance killing him. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Vance rubs my bottom lip and smirks. “Little Bird, I’m not a man who gets into trouble. I’m the man that makes it. You don’t need to worry about me, but the person who dared to hurt you does.”
“His name is Roy Rogers. He’s the deadbeat piece of shit my best friend Emily got tangled up with. She always seems to get tangled up with assholes. It started with her father, and I hope to God, it ends with Roy. When we went to their apartment to pack her up, he came in and started going crazy. He punched her, and when I tried to get him off her, he lost it. He pushed me, and I hit the counter hard. It hurts like a bitch, but I think it’s heavy bruising, no real damage.”
Vance nods before walking to the bathroom counter and tapping on his phone. That’s when I notice it—a finger wrapped up in a white handkerchief, streaked with red. Blood.
I scream, falling to the ground as Vance drops his phone and rushes to me. His hands are frantic as they move over my body, his eyes consumed with worry and fear.
“Clarissa!” he yells, shaking me.
“Is-Is that a finger?”
Vance shrugs. “Yes. It belongs to the fucker from the club. The one who was harassing you.”
“He offered to buy me a fuckin’ drink, Vance. He barely touched me.”
“He touched you with that finger. So I took it.”
“You cut off his fuckin’ finger 'cause it touched my elbow?”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re certifiable.”
“I don’t like people touching my property. I told you that. I don’t share.”
I pull away from him, and my back hits the wall. I realize there’s nowhere left to go.
“I might be a nut job, but I’m your nut job,” Vance says with a wink.
“I’m here as your prisoner, Vance. You call me your property. I don’t have any power here.”
Vance backs away from me. His eyes search mine, looking for what, I’m not sure. This man does things to me I don’t understand. They say that fear heightens sexual desire, and maybe that’s true because I’m having inappropriate thoughts about him pushing me up against the wall and fucking me until I can’t think straight.