Page 78 of Tormented

Surely you’re not going to let her get all the way back to Lincoln untouched . . . .

Maybe I am.

Liar . . . .

I chuckle, drawing Abbey’s curious eye. Yeah, he got me on that. As if I’d pass up this opportunity when day after day my thoughts about her have gotten a little more detailed and a little more obsessive. My smile fades pretty damn fast though when I realize the truth of it: I’m not going after her for a little fun, or out of sheer curiosity, like I keep telling myself—this shit is dead serious.

Aw, crap.

I’ve got a reputation as a jealous and controlling asshole for a reason. When I decide it’s mine, it’s fucking mine. No ifs, buts, or maybes about it. And right now, watching Abbey wipe her hands off on the stomach of her tank top, I’m seeing the words “Property of Sawyer” splashed all over her tight little body.

Like that’s ever turned out well in the past . . . remember what happened to the last girl you promised you’d make your old lady . . .?

I wince, dropping my chin and twisting my head to the side as I try to scrub the images of Dana bleeding out on my father’s lawn from my head. Getting attached to women doesn’t go down well for me. There’s a reason why the saying “treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen” came about; for fucked-up assholes like me to keep some semblance of sanity. Relationships and me? Nope, no thank you, ma’am.

Leave me more fucked-up than I was going in, and that sure as hell says something.

“Are we ready?” Abbey stands before me, hands on her svelte hips as she studies me curiously.

“Yeah. Been ready for fuckin’ ages,” I snap.

She frowns, eyes locked to mine for a beat before she backs away, nodding. “Good. I’ll run in and use the ladies’ while you put that away, huh?” She points to the toolbox.

Fuck it. At least if I drag that heavy-ass thing back in the garage I’ll have a legitimate reason to be aching all over.