Page 93 of Tormented

“It’s dark. Nobody could see.”

“I could see.” He locks the door and turns around to face me with murderous intent hazing his eyes.

“Look, I get—”

“Nothing. Obviously.” He stalks toward me.

The backs of my knees hit the bed and I fold, landing on my elbows. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” he says incredulously, eyebrows raised. “Our deal is that what’s on display here”—his finger circles over my body—“is mine now. I choose who talks about it, who touches it, and who gets to so much as fuckin’ look at it for more than five seconds.”

Is he for real? We fucked—hard—and it was good. But he’s known to do that a lot to blow off steam, to quiet the voices, to do whatever the fuck it is psychotic assholes need to so they can calm their shit. I’ve heard the whores brag about him, about how many times they’ve had him, and in what positions.

I’ve reenacted most of it with Hooch just so I could daydream those whores were me.

Yeah, I’m a little unstable. But so what? It made me feel good.

“I don’t know what you think happened in there,” I say, thumbing toward the bathroom, “but I never agreed to anything other than what we did.”

“You said you wanted it.”

“The sex? Yeah.”

“You said you wanted me,” he hollers, jabbing his hand at the offending room. “You told me you fantasized about this, about me, about us.”

Shit. “Yeah, I did fantasize about you. But I never thought about what would happen after.”

“Jesus, Abbey-girl.” He slams the side of his hand to his forehead and paces the room beside the bed. “You don’t get to cross that line with me and back off.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in more. I . . . I thought—”

“Wrong.” He spins, taking two steps toward me and leaning over so his hands hit the mattress either side of my shoulders. His nose brushes mine before he pulls back enough to look my face over, every inch, every detail. “I mark you, then you belong to me. I don’t know if it’s exclusive yet, but when I take a girl bareback, you best be believin’ it means she belongs to me.”

He doesn’t know if we’d be exclusive? Like fuck I’d share. “I’m not your property.”

He smirks, cold and fucking evil. “Are you sure about that?” I see his father in him in that moment, and it’s confusing as hell.

Because as much as I should be repulsed by gazing into the eyes of unchecked and soulless evil, it only makes me want him more.

Maybe I am more unstable than I thought?

And maybe being his to do with as he pleases wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all?

I’m so fucking torn.