Chapter 27
He’s a bastard. A fucking piece of shit.
Arrogant, loud, always two seconds away from throwing a punch like it proves something.
He should’ve been six feet under the day my father almost put him there.
Instead, I made the mistake of opening the door, letting the devil crawl into my life, into my house.
Now he walks around like he’s king of my world, like I’m just some pawn he can move where he pleases.
Like my body, my breath, my fury, are his to take.
I hate him. God, I hate him so much. If he thinks he can break me, he’s going to choke on the fire he lit inside me.
Yet every time his eyes catch mine, I can’t tell if I want to claw them out or drown in them.
I’ve been avoiding him since this morning. I didn’t go to university so I wouldn’t have to spend more awkward time with him.
I’m such a fool. How did I let myself get seduced by that two-faced devil and let him think he owns me?
That’s it. I need to stand up for myself and show him I’m not his little puppet that he can play with anytime he wants, using his signature charming smirk.
Determined to change the way I treat the situation and him, I grab my bottle of water and head to the house’s gym.
I’ve always loved a killer workout when I’m stressed or can’t get something off my mind.
My shoulders hurt so much. I guess I’m just tense after the last few days. And the scar on my shoulder blade is killing me lately.
Hopefully, the gym will be empty today. I need solitude.
I push the door wide open and … it isn’t.
“Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better,” Adam says with a smirk as he bends to lift some weights.
Great …
I pretend to be unbothered and avoid replying to him. Trying to keep my eyes to myself and resist even the slightest sidelong glance, I walk up to the treadmill in front of the window.
I step on, switch it on, and start off at a quick pace. After a few seconds—or so I suppose—he nonchalantly comes over, facing me as he leans back against the window ledge, resting his elbows on it.
“You’re hurting my feelings, little orchid.”
I scoff, attempting to keep my venom to myself and end this sooner.
If I keep up with this attitude, he’ll get bored and leave me alone, won’t he?
“You won’t even look at me, huh?”
I bite back any words and push the treadmill faster, shifting into a steady run. Keeping my eyes off him isn’t easy, but I manage. Sort of.
He clicks his tongue, pushes off the window ledge, and props his elbows on the treadmill, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“You think ignoring me makes you tough?” he drawls, tilting his head as his eyes drag over me. “All it does is show me how badly you want to look.”
“In your dreams,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the treadmill screen, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a glance. “Leave me alone.”
He smirks, tongue clicking again as his gaze lingers. “If you really wanted to leave you alone, princess, you wouldn’t have chosen the treadmill right in front of me.”
My pulse skips, and I grit my teeth. “Will you just let me run?”
He chuckles low, the sound sliding under my skin. “Run faster,” he murmurs, eyes locked on me. “I like the chase.”
My heart slams against my chest, and I don’t think it’s because of the exercise. I turn off the treadmill and step down from it, staring bravely into his eyes.
“What the hell do you want?” I bark.
Lazily, he grabs my chin and cranes my neck to meet his gaze.
“Your attention.”
I finally let my gaze settle on him. The black sleeveless shirt clings to his body, stretching over his inked arm muscles.
He’s soaked in sweat, yet somehow, beneath the heat rolling off him, he carries that intoxicating scent—dark musk, maybe.
Gosh, it’s maddening. I can’t tell if he’s just begun his workout or if he’s already burned through it.
How does a man walk out of hellfire and still smell like sin?
I need to get my shit together.
I slap his hand away. “You know what I want?”
“I’m sure we both know the answer to that question.”
“I want you out of here.” I poke his shoulder, causing his brows to rise in surprise. “I don’t want you anywhere near me, threatening people just because they look at me.”
“It’s already too late, little orchid. You cried to your father to keep me, remember?”
“I made a mistake, okay?” I snap, my voice rising.
“I never should’ve asked you to be my bodyguard.
” I shove him hard. “You stalk around like some rabid dog, just waiting for someone to look at me wrong so you have an excuse to hurt them. Don’t pretend this is about protection. You want violence. You live for it.”
He doesn’t laugh this time. His smug, sly grin has turned into a solemn, unreadable grimace.
“Are you done?”
His calmness fuels my anger even more. I can barely hold myself back. “No, I’m not done!”
“Stop pushing me,” he says calmly, keeping his eyes outside the window.
“Or what?” I shove him again. “You’ll threaten me too?” Again. “Huh?”
In an instant, he seizes my face and pushes me back against the wall, eliciting a gasp of surprise.
“I said. Stop. Pushing. Me.”
His uneven breath hammers against my lips. He’s furious, more than I’ve ever seen him. The calm is gone, replaced with something sharp and dangerous.
His prominent jaw twitches, his nostrils flare, and his brows narrow.
What happened?
I stay quiet. Fear keeps me in place, trying to calm my breathing and remain composed.
His eyes dart between mine, scanning my face.
With a sharp move, he lets me go and takes a step back, his shoulders rising and falling frantically, his eyes still fixed on mine.
“Don’t test me again. You won’t like how far I’ll go.”
I can still feel his hands on my face, the wall at my back. My chest heaves, but I force myself to move, to break the stare first.
Coglione! Idiot!
Without a word, I step past him and grab the pull-up bar. My palms sting against the cold metal as I haul myself up.
One. Two. Three.
He doesn’t stay behind. I hear his steps right away. By the time I reach four, he’s already beside me. What is that feeling in my stomach?
“Five,” he says quietly.
And that sly smirk is back on his lips.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice strained as I push myself up.
He grabs the bars and hoists himself up, facing me. “Making sure my responsibility doesn’t get hurt.”
I scoff. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”
He lifts himself up with ease, as if he weighs nothing, and arches a brow.
“I’m not here to care about what you think you need,” he says, lips curving in a lazy, knowing smirk.
He’s such an asshole! How dare he?
My eyes squint in anger as I try to think of a proper response.
“Then stop acting like you do.”
Switching bars, he closes the space between us and pulls up to meet my gaze. “You think my face and my words are the whole of me?” Closer. “You haven’t seen what I’m like when I stop pretending to be civil.”
My breath catches as I gulp forcefully. My eyes roam all over his flushed face, that surprisingly seems too calm now—not a surprise anymore, I guess. Arrogance twists across his features, satisfaction etched there like he’s enjoying every second of this.
I’ve never met a man like him. One second he’s pure danger and the next, he’s gentle enough to make me forget who he really is. He keeps switching masks, and I can’t tell which one hides the monster and which one hides the man.
Not that I’m any different. I hide just like he does, maybe worse.
I want to push his buttons, see how far he can hold on before he snaps, just like he does with me.
I want to know if that smug, knowing smirk of his will fade when I cross the line, or if he’ll drag me over it with him.
Will he keep up with his so-called professionalism, or will he lean in with that infuriatingly taunting side and show me just how well he plays the game I’m about to start?
Without thinking twice, I wrap my legs around his waist. His eyes widen with surprise, but he manages to stay composed.
“What are you capable of when you’re not civil, Mitch?” I raise a brow, mirroring his arrogance.
It’s all just a game to him. A game to prove his power and dominance over me, just like he wants to do with everyone around him.
Little does he know how willing I am to play.
His eyes burn into me, cold, almost soulless, and for a moment, my blood runs cold.
“Let go,” he says gutturally.
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of obeying, but his stare shuts down every thought I have. So, I do it. I let go of the bar, and he follows. His hands catch my thighs mid-air, and then we’re on the ground. Slowly, and while he grips my legs tighter, he walks me to the window.
He sets me onto the ledge, his eyes never leaving mine. My arms are still wrapped around his neck, trying to balance myself and mask my mixed emotions.
“You’re testing me again,” he says quietly, his teeth grinding.
“Why, Mitch? You can’t handle your own business?” My palm settles delicately on his firm torso.
I’m walking straight into disaster, but turning back isn’t an option anymore.
He’ll ruin me in ways I won’t recover from, I know it. The thing is … I’ll still go willingly.
There’s no logic left. Only the pull of his darkness, wrapping tighter around me with every breath I take, even when I don’t dare to admit it.
His fingers brush against my scalp as they reach for the base of my high ponytail. With a slow pull, he slides the elastic band free, letting my hair cascade over my shoulders in a silken fall.
He doesn’t speak, just takes a single strand, winding it around his finger.
Then he lifts it to his face and inhales—long and slow—his eyes fluttering shut like he’s breathing in something far more intoxicating than perfume.
When he opens them, they’re darker. Hungrier.
He traces his hand delicately on my collarbone, causing goose bumps all over my skin.