Page 62 of Tormented
I stare at him for a moment, turning ideas over in my head. “What if he liked me? Your devil? Would he still make you hurt me then?”
His gaze returns to mine, and he frowns. “He doesn’t like anyone, Abbey.”
“Maybe nobody’s tried to get to know him.” I shrug. After all, he can’t be any worse than winning over in-laws. “What’s he saying now?”
“That the untouched skin on your neck would look good drippin’ in crimson while I fucked the hell out of your dyin’ body.”
Well then . . . . I’m not sure what’s more disturbing: what he said, or the fact I’m not overly worried about it. Certainly a step up from a month ago. I still have faith in his self-control.
“There’s always role play,” I joke with a tight smirk.
He chuckles. It’s a sound to crave, like a hot drink on a winter’s night, curling its warmth through my chest and settling in my gut.
“Tempting.”
“Is he always the reason you kill people?” I reach out and boldly run my fingertips around the narrow part of his waist, stopping when they reach his belt.
“Mostly.”
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. The proximity, the way I’m touching him, it’s sending my anxiety into overdrive. And yet . . . I can’t stop myself. “What else does he say then?”
Sawyer’s brow twitches, as though my questions confuse him. “Why do you want to know?” He gently removes my hand from his waist. “It’s a bit rich of you to ask considerin’ you were the one to tell me where to get off when the roles were reversed.”
Fair call.
“I’m curious, is all.” I’m fascinated. And most of all, I’m excited at the prospect of possibly fixing my own issues by understanding his. What if he does have the answer, this madman who controls his crazy with such finesse? I can’t give up without at least trying.
Sawyer backs away, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he stands side-on to me. “I think it’s time you went back inside, Abbey, don’t you?”
Nuh-uh. I should do as he says, but the need to find out what exactly happened back there is too strong. “Nope. Sure don’t.”
He sighs, dropping his hands to his sides as he rolls his neck in my direction. “You made it pretty damn clear that I wasn’t enough for you, Abbey-girl, so if you thought being here in LA means it would be a great time for a fun one-night stand, then I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m closed for business.”
Is he for fucking real? “What the hell makes you think I wanted to jump you?”
I mean . . . the thought was there, I have wondered what it’d be like, but still.
“Your fingers on my belt,” he says snidely. “That sad excuse for fuckin’ clothing you’re wearin’. The fact you fuckin’ followed me out here like a bitch in heat.”
“Fuck you.” My fists ball at my sides. “Maybe I wanted to do something ludicrous like talk to you, ask if you’re okay, find out what the hell happened back there, because you’ve never been that bad.”
“You didn’t see me before these assholes packed me home, did you?”
“You think it would have made a difference if I had?”
“Perhaps then, you’d know that what you’re doin’ now, trying’ to ‘help me,’” he mocks with air quotes, “is pointless.”
“It’s not. I wouldn’t bother wasting my time if I didn’t see a point to what I’m doing.”
His eyes narrow with clear suspicion, and I scoff at his fucking judgmental ass.
“So I can’t even talk to you now without having an ulterior motive?”
“Everyone’s got an agenda.”
Damn fucking right they do. I frown, unsure what to say next. After all, he’s right, isn’t he? I do have an agenda. As much as I give a shit about him, ultimately I want inside that head of his to find out if it’ll help me.
Selfish, Abbey.