Chapter 11 #3
Adam clicks his tongue. “Didn’t it cross your mind that I ignored you on purpose?” He flashes a slow, crooked grin. The devil in him is pleased with his new toy.
“Bella, who the hell is he?”
“Still asking the wrong questions, sunshine,” Adam says, stepping closer, almost in front of me.
“My name is Arnold.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Hey, you—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt them, stepping to the side. “Arnold is an old friend.”
“Old friend,” Adam repeats, rolling the phrase around his tongue. “Charming euphemism. You’re too kind with your words,” he says without looking at me. His gaze is fixed on Arnold.
“Though I imagine was would’ve been more accurate. Tenses matter, darling. Let’s not butcher grammar just to salvage his pride.” He looks at him and shrugs. “Whatever.”
Arnold’s eyes roll, and he snorts, trying to ignore Adam. “Bella, did you hear about that party next week?”
“What party?”
“The one Omega Theta’s throwing.”
Oh, how I wish I could go to a party like that and feel like a normal girl.
Just once. But of course, Dad’s whole life mission is to make sure I never get to be one.
Maybe now that Adam’s around, it’ll be different.
Maybe if he’s with me, Dad will suddenly decide I’m safe from the dangers of fun and freedom.
I glance at Adam. He’s already staring at me, silent, but that silence is practically sizzling. I can feel the anger radiating off him. He takes his job way too seriously, guarding a slightly annoyed businessman’s precious girl who just wants to go to a damn party.
He shakes his head slowly in disapproval.
“Yes, I’ll go,” I chirp with excitement, just to oppose him.
“The hell you will,” Adam says quietly, flashing a wide and sarcastic smile.
“What are you?” Arnold barks. “Her dad?”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what I’m about to do.
“Adam, I am your boss,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I decide where I go. You follow orders.”
His intense, commanding gaze lingers on mine for a few seconds before he raises his hands in mock surrender and takes two steps back. “Fine. Have it your way.”
“Good to see that the leash works,” Arnold snickers, crossing his arms.
He really doesn’t know where to stop. Surprisingly, Adam doesn’t react to Arnold’s mockery. He folds his hands in front of his lower abdomen, and stiffens like a soldier.
“He listens,” Arnold continues.
“Cut it, already,” I snap, my eyes widening.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re coming.” He steps closer, takes my hand, and plants a kiss on my knuckles. “Just like the old days.”
“Oh, come on,” Adam mumbles, clearly irritated.
“What old days? None of them are coming back.” I scoff bitterly.
“You never know,” he says quietly, a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulls me closer. “Booze might help you relax,” he adds, slipping his arm around my waist.
The moment his hand touches me, something curdles in my stomach.
I feel it instantly, that crawling, skin-prickling discomfort.
It’s not the kind of awkwardness I feel around Adam, with all his intense stares and heavy silence.
This is different. With Adam, it’s complicated.
With Arnold, it’s simple. I hate his hands on me.
I hate the way he touches me like it’s casual, like he’s entitled to it.
I want to shove him off. But for a second, I freeze, stuck between disgust and disbelief that he actually thinks this is okay.
“I don’t drink,” I say, pushing him away.
He pulls me closer. “It’s never too late to start.”
Desperation floods my veins, pure revulsion crawling up my spine and tightening my chest.
“Arnold, back off.”
“Come on—”
Swiftly, Adam grabs a fistful of Arnold’s open-shirt collar and yanks him closer.
“Listen to me, you nasty cockroach. I listen to her, while you, on the other hand, must be obviously stupid,” he says coldly, tapping Arnold’s cheek with his palm as his grip tightens. “Unless you’re deaf, in which case I deeply apologize for almost mistaking you for someone with basic respect.”
Everyone around has stopped what they were doing and is staring at us. We’re giving them one hell of a show.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Arnold blurts out.
Adam grabs his face and pushes him until his back meets the classroom’s door.
“You made three mistakes, cutie-pie,” Adam says, his voice dripping with disdain. “One.” He holds up a finger. “Her name is not Bella, nor Isi, or Isa.”
“But—”
“Two.” He shoves his back harder against the door and raises two fingers. “You thought I was on a leash.” His twisted smile spreads. “I’m not.” He draws his gun and drives it up under Arnold’s jaw.
Everyone freezes. A few students scramble to call someone—probably the cops or a teacher. Arnold’s shaking, barely able to stand.
“Please, no!” I shout, desperate.
“Three,” he growls, voice cold and dead. “You dared to touch her like she was yours to touch.”
“I’m sorry,” Arnold sobs.
“Let me spell it out for you,” Adam hisses through clenched teeth.
“Adam, no,” I breathe, incapable of raising my voice higher.
Adam grabs him, violently wrenches him around, slams his face into the door, twists his arm up to the breaking point, and grinds his head against the wood. Arnold groans with pain, but Adam is unstoppable.
“She may be my boss, but I’m the one who’ll kill you if you ever touch her again. She can fire me after I hack you open, tear out your guts while you’re still breathing, and hang you with them like meat on a hook, you fucking Prince Charming.”
The door cracks open, but Adam slams Arnold’s head against it harder, smashing it shut with his skull.
“That’s a damn fine reason to lose a job.”
“Okay,” Arnold whimpers, a tear running down his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry,” Arnold yells, louder.
Adam lets him go and crosses his arms. “Now, apologize to her.”
“No! There’s no reason for this,” I shout at Adam, trying to knock some sense into him.
“I beg to differ. I want to hear him choke on his remorse for laying a finger on you.”
Arnold is crying. He’s shaking from terror, and I don’t know how to act or react.
“Let’s go already.” I grab Adam’s wrist and pull him closer.
He cocks his gun’s hammer and presses the muzzle against Arnold’s temple. “I’m running out of patience here.”
Arnold squeezes his eyes, forcing more tears to run down his cheeks.
“One.”
“Adam!”
“Two.”
“I’m sorry, Bella,” Arnold blurts out. Adam clears his throat and pokes his head with the gun. “Isabella! I’m sorry, Isabella.”
“It’s okay,” I reply quietly, looking into his eyes.
Weirdly, I don’t feel embarrassed. I’m scared of what Adam is capable of doing to him.
“It wasn’t that hard, was it?”
“Let’s go, please.”
Adam slides the gun into the back of his waistband and smooths out Arnold’s shirt. “Pleasure meeting you, sunshine.”
He gives a lazy salute with a cold wink, grabs my wrist, and yanks me deeper into the university hallways, every eye locked on us.