Chapter 34
AMELIA
My heart pounds so violently it feels like it might burst out of my chest. I’m shaking as I stand outside the old wooden door labeled Mr. Adams . It’s my first official day back after taking a few days off to recover. Mr. Adams emailed me to come see him before his next class starts. I know what he wants. Wondering why my project due after the New Year break wasn’t turned in yet.
The sound of the few students chatting as they leave his room fades into the background, replaced by the roaring rush of my anxiety.
I take a deep breath, then another. Finally, I knock.
“Come in,” his voice calls from the other side, sharp and impatient.
I push the door open and step inside. The classroom is empty now, only rows of long desks leading up to his imposing figure at the front. When I get closer, he gestures to a chair in the front row.
“Sit.”
I obey, sitting down as he folds his hands on the desk, peering at me through his glasses. “What is your reason for not turning in your project on time?”
“Umm…” I hesitate. I don’t want to tell him about my kidnapping. I don’t want to tell anyone. I just want to move past those couple of days and put them behind me.
He sighs heavily, the sound filling the space between us like a storm cloud. “Here comes the excuses,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’d think you’d already have the excuse thought out since you had the whole winter break to think of one.”
I brace myself for the usual berating. But instead, his expression does a one-eighty flip. He smiles—an unsettling smile, but a smile nonetheless—and stands up. My stomach churns as he picks up his chair and brings it over, sitting down right in front of me. Too close.
“You know,” he begins, his tone oddly casual for the situation. “I hate that stupid group. They walk around here like they own the place.”
What does that have to do with me or my assignment?
He places his hand on the side of my chair, close to my thigh. I flinch, shifting away, but there’s not much space to move. The chair’s hard edges feel like they’re trapping me in. “Imagine if,” he rasps, his hand inching closer. “I said that you couldn’t turn in the project late unless you did me a favor.”
I can barely breathe. “What kind of favor?”
Nausea rolls through me. Every fiber of my being tells me to bolt out of here, but again, I remain frozen. What is wrong with me? Why can’t my body ever move when I’m in the face of danger?
His gaze drops to my chest. “You’re smart. I think you can guess.”
“H-he’s going to hurt you, you know.” I can barely get the words out. My mind reels from fear and revulsion, I’ve never been in a situation like this before. A professor coming on to his… student ?
He chuckles, the sound low and chilling. “I know he’s going to try. But the thing is, he always uses a knife. His precious little knife,” he mocks. “But, I’ll have a gun. And you know what they say about bringing a knife to a gunfight.”
“Actually, I always carry a small gun on me. I just never use it,” a familiar voice cuts in.
I breathe a sigh of freaking relief. I turn to see Blade, leaning against the side door, one leg crossed over the other. He has no idea just how gorgeous he looks in that pose—dark, mysterious, and, excuse my French, but hot as fuck in his all black gear, the way it clings to every muscle.
God damn it, I must be ovulating. Here I am, with a professor trying to come on to me, and all I can think about is how ridiculously good Blade looks.
Blades pushes off the door frame. “But I prefer a knife. A gun is too easy, just a simple pull of a trigger. Where’s the fun in that?”
Mr. Adams shoots a look at him, then quickly pulls his hand away from my thigh. “Fuck,” he mumbles, clearing his throat and standing up. “So Amelia, like I was saying about the project—”
“Cut the crap,” Blade snaps. “I heard everything.”
Mr. Adams tries, but fails, to stammer out an excuse, but the words die in his throat when Blade fixes him with a cold, icy glare.
“You must want to die today, huh?” Blade’s voice slices through the air like a knife itself, sharp and simmering with rage.
Mr. Adams blanches, the bravado he had a second ago quickly crumbling, and that brings me a world of satisfaction. The creep. “I-I didn’t mean—”
“Shut up,” Blade growls, taking a step closer to him. “Surely you didn’t think you’d get away with this and still walk away alive.”
Mr. Adams looks like he wants to melt into the floor, his face drained of color. The room falls into a tense silence, the only sound I hear is my ragged breathing.
Blade turns to me, his expression softening. “Are you okay, baby?” I nod, though I’m still shaken. He glances back to Mr. Adams, but his words are meant for me. “Drive my car back, I’ll be there soon.”
I shake my head, knowing exactly what that means. Despite everything, I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not even Mr. Adams, even though he’s a disgusting piece of shit. “Hurting him isn’t worth it. We can just report him to the board. We both have our words.”
Blade’s jaw tightens. “Amelia…”
“No. I don’t want anyone hurt because of me. I would never get it off my conscience. I’m not leaving.”
He exhales deeply, a conflicted expression crossing his face as he appears to wrestle with his thoughts. After a moment of silence, he nods. “Okay.” He turns to Mr. Adams, his body radiating anger, though his voice stays eerily calm. He must’ve mastered how to keep a calm voice when he’s angry. “She gets an A for the project. No, an A plus. She’s transferring out of this class, you stay your lousy self away from her, and count your fucking days.”
Mr. Adams nods and doesn’t say a word.
Blade outstretches his hand to me, and I take it, feeling relieved that this situation is all over. The project too—I was stressing that if I had turned it in, I’d get a bad grade. We walk towards the side door together. Blade calls over his shoulder, “Oh, and we walk around like we own the place because we do.” The door slams shut just as he gets out the last word.
As we step into the hallway, I notice something I hadn’t before—Blade is shaking, his whole body, and he’s breathing erratically.
“You’re shaking. Hey, you gotta calm down. You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.”
“You don’t know how much strength it took to leave that classroom without bashing his fucking head in.” He starts rambling, the words pouring out in a rush, barely intelligible. “I swear, if he’s not gone by next week, I’ll—”
I pull him to the side, and do the only thing I can think of to calm him down. I kiss him, pressing my lips to his, silencing his torrent of anger.
He responds almost immediately, his hands gripping my waist tightly, pulling me close. His fingers dig into my hips harshly, echoing his anger. I can feel his heartbeat, fast and erratic, but it starts to slow as the kiss deepens, his body relaxing against mine. I pour everything I have into the kiss, I hate seeing him angry or upset.
When we finally break apart, both of us are breathless, but I manage to say, “If you keep saying crazy stuff, I’ll have to kiss you again.”
His eyes glint with a tinge of amusement. “Crazy stuff, crazy stuff, crazy stuff. Now kiss me.”
I laugh, a sound that feels like a release of all the tension that’s been building over the past week. Leaning in, I give him a light, teasing kiss. “That’s all you get.”
“C’mon,” he groans. “You can’t leave me hanging like that.”
“Nope,” I say, grinning. “You’ll just have to behave if you want more.”
“Oh, now I’m the one who has to behave, huh?” He steps closer. “I thought that was your job.”
I bite my lip. He unexpectedly grips my ass and I gasp, catching his arm and pulling it away. “Not here,” I whisper-yell, my eyes darting left and right. I’m relieved to find that no one is watching our intimate moment. I forgot we were even in the hallway for a second.
He pouts dramatically, putting on a show, and I laugh again. We continue down the hallways, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me close until we make it outside to the VIP student parking. It’s just a parking pass up close to the building that costs… well, I don’t know how much it costs. Come to think of it, I don’t know the prices of much of anything around here anymore. Blade just always handles it, or if I’m alone, I pick up what I want, and the cashier never even tells me the total.
When we reach the car, Blade opens the door for me and reaches over to buckle in my seatbelt. This is how our routine has been for a while—he drops me off at class in the morning, meets me outside of my last class of the day, and we head back to his place. The car door opening and seatbelt buckling have become everyday gestures as well. And I like it. I like the little gestures that show he cares.
As we drive, just a few minutes from the mansion, Blade speaks up, “We’re going on a trip tomorrow.”
“A trip? What trip?”
“A road trip. The reason is a surprise.”
“I don’t need a big surprise like the fashion studio again.”
He glances over at me and smiles, big. “This is so much more than that.”
“More than the fashion studio that you built me at your house that cost six figures?”
“How did you know what it cost to build?”
“I got curious, so I snooped around in the little office that you don’t want anyone to know is an office. And went through the folder for that month’s financials. You know, you organize your stuff really well, you would’ve killed it as an executive at a corporate office.”
“You little mouse, sneaking around at night in my stuff.” He squeezes my thigh. “But yes, more than a six-figure fashion studio.”
My mouth hangs open. “Whatever it is, take it back. Six figures was already too much. More than six figures?! Are you crazy?! You must be! You’ve gone mad!”
“Mad for you? Yes. But we’ve already established that, haven’t we? But, this isn’t costing any money. It’s just worth more than six figures. Besides, no amount of money is too much for your happiness.”
“And how do you know it’ll make me happy?”
“Trust me, it will. I know you.”
“Cocky much?”
“Only because I can back up every single thing I’m cocky about.”
I roll my eyes as the car comes to a stop in the driveway. He gets out from his side, opens my door, unbuckles my seatbelt, and offers his hand to help me out of the car. But he blocks the way, trapping me in the little space between the door.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “Remember what you said about crazy stuff?”
“Yeah?”
He grins. “Crazy stuff.”
“You’re impossible.” I lean in to kiss his cheek, but he turns his head at the last second and my lips land on his. His hand tangles in my hair, holding me there as he deepens the kiss.
“And you like me for it,” he mumbles against my lips.
“I do.”
I really do.