Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Ava
When I wake up, morning light is just starting to peek through the curtains. My head is pounding, and my throat feels raw, like I’ve been sleeping with my mouth open. Ugh. I swallow and wince at the sting.
Sitting up, I suddenly realize I’m not in my bed, and that realization triggers a flood of memories that slam into me like a nightmare—getting kidnapped, waking up in some random bedroom, seeing Jackson McKnight for the first time in three years…
The fucking cunt.
God, I hate him.
With a groan, I lean forward and press the heel of my palm against my throbbing temple. What the fuck did he inject me with?
“Morning, Doe-eyes,” comes his deep baritone from beside me.
I jump. Fuck.
“You have to stop doing that,” I hiss, twisting to see Jackson lounging next to me on the mattress, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him, looking down at his phone.
“What did you inject me with?” I choke out, the words catching in my dry throat.
“Just a little something to help you sleep. You were getting agitated.”
Goddamn. This guy must have a death wish.
“Agitated?” My voice cracks with rage. “You drugged me, kidnapped me, then drugged me again, and somehow I’m the problem?”
He doesn’t look up from the screen, thumb scrolling with casual indifference. Then I notice the teal phone case. He has my phone in his hand. I swipe at it, but he moves it out of my reach.
“Where’d you get that? I accidentally left it in my locker at work.”
Though it occurs to me now, my phone was never in my locker at Isca. He stole it somehow. This whole thing was orchestrated—my missing phone, David coincidentally not being at his post when I left...
Ignoring me, his thumb pauses, and he flips the phone around to show me the screen. “You and this douche, Chase, have such a boring relationship,” he says with a smirk.
“Boring is what I want,” I spit back. “It’s a million times better than the alternative.”
His eyes narrow. “Which is?”
“Chaos,” I say, unblinking. “Violence. Destruction.”
A slow smile stretches across his face as he sets the phone down next to him. Then he rolls over, bracing his hands on the headboard, one on each side of my head.
“We did have fun, though, didn’t we?” he says, his tone deep and gravelly.
A sliver of something snakes down my spine, but I work hard to suppress it. Because this is his thing. This is what he does. He seduces, he lures, then once he’s gotten what he wants, he tears his victim to shreds…
“Sure,” I say with a scowl. “Until you went fucking psycho.”
His eyes flick over my face, like he’s trying to decide what to do with me—strangle me, or kiss me. And honestly, I’d rather he try to kill me. At least I have some defense against that. Not much, but more than I have against those deep green eyes and that sexy-as-fuck smirk.
Finally, he pulls away, grabs my phone, and starts scrolling again. He pauses and turns the screen toward me. “Who is this?”
A sweet cherub face fills the screen—round, red cheeks, and messy brown hair that’s gotten too long. My heart stutters in my chest, and adrenaline floods my veins. I don’t want Jackson anywhere near my life, or the people I love. But I know he won’t accept a non-answer, so I give him one.
“His name is Jameson,” I say. “My nephew.”
He stares at me for long seconds, and I wonder if he’s going to devise some way of using Jameson as leverage against me. Maybe threaten me and force me to cooperate. In the end, all he says is, “Cute kid. Is the father around?”
“No.”
He nods slowly, his eyes flicking over Jameson’s sweet face.
I can’t breathe.
“I’ve got to hand it to Olivia,” he says, finally putting the phone down. “I never really saw her as the motherly type.”
My sister’s ten years older than me, and yeah, she’s always had a selfish streak. But she had to be a little selfish. When our mom walked out, I was three and she was thirteen, which meant she ended up raising me while Dad worked. Anyone would be a little resentful about that.
“People change,” I say.
After a few seconds of silence, he leans back in and presses his lips against mine softly. I’m too stunned to move, which is so fucking dumb. I’ve imagined this moment a million times in my mind, and every single time, I’ve scowled, said something snarky, then slapped him across the face.
And God, that whack, and his head snapping to the side, the shocked look in his eyes…just imagining it was enough to make my clit twitch.
And yet here I am, in real life, completely frozen.
Using his teeth, he tugs on my bottom lip. “I think you like me a little bit psycho,” he whispers, a call back to my earlier comment.
I wouldn’t dare admit it to him, but yeah, okay, maybe. His level of crazy kept life interesting, I’ll say that. But then, crazy spiraled into completely unhinged, and it tore my life apart. So, yeah, no. I wouldn’t say it’s a quality I’m looking for in a guy.
“I like boring,” I say, swallowing. “I like Chase.”
He pulls back and something dark flickers across his expression—jealousy, maybe?
But that’s impossible. Jackson and I haven’t been together in three years, and I know for a fact he’s been with plenty of other women since then.
I mean, the man is diabolically attractive, the kind of gorgeous that makes people do double-takes on the street.
When we were dating, girls would practically throw themselves at him right in front of me, like I was invisible.
“No, you don’t,” he says with a level of confidence that absolutely infuriates me.
“You’ve convinced yourself you like that fucking simp—” He tucks a strand of hair over my ear, his fingertips brushing gently against my cheek.
A shiver trips down my spine. Ugh. “—But I know you, Doe-eyes. You like it rough…” He nips at my lip again. “...and so fucking dirty.”
I shake my head. “That was years ago,” I say. “I’m not that girl in your backseat anymore.”
And it’s true. Well, mostly true. I’m not as naive as that girl was, and not nearly as forgiving. But, do I like rough sex? Yes. Sue me. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to walk away from a sweet, mentally stable guy to get it.
The edges of his mouth lift in a knowing smile. I’ve always had that sense about Jackson—that he could see into me in ways that no one else could. Lying to him was nearly impossible. Thankfully, I’ve gotten better at it over the years.
“Sure, Doe-eyes. Keep telling yourself that until you believe it.”
With every word, his warm breath brushes over my cheek.
It smells minty, like he just brushed his teeth.
I bring my hands up and push against his chest, but he doesn’t move.
I knew he wouldn’t. No one on this planet can make Jackson McKnight do anything he doesn’t want to do.
He’s more stubborn than stone and built like a linebacker.
My jaw tightens. “Has anyone ever told you how fucking arrogant you are?”
“Yeah,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “You. Many times.”
“I can’t be the only one.”
He shrugs. “I’m sure a lot of people think it. But so far, you’re the only one brave enough to say it.”
Brave or stupid. Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong. Maybe the quickest way out of this whole mess is to play along, fawn over him, pretend I’m flattered by his attention. Maybe then, he’ll get bored with me and let me go…
Ugh.
This is going to kill me, but I have to get out of here. I’m desperate at this point.
Sucking in a breath, I reach deep, deep down to the hidden shadows of my soul, and awaken that girl from three years ago. I’ve tried to kill her, bury her, but every once in a while, I can feel her stirring, struggling to take a breath.
Now, I have no choice but to let her…
Closing my eyes briefly, I tap into that innocence, before everything went to shit, and I knew what Jackson really was…
My eyelashes flutter as I look up at him. For a split second, time warps, and a sense of warmth washes over me. All the emotions I’ve been holding back for the past three years—anger, sadness, confusion—swirl inside me like a whirlpool.
“If I admit it, will you let me go?” I ask softly.
He pulls back, his gaze flicking over my face, like he’s surprised by the softness in my tone. “Admit what?”
I’ve managed to set him off balance, which is a win for me. But the win only really counts if I can get what I want in the end—freedom.
I lift my chin, the present-day me still fighting a little. I swallow, but my mouth feels dry. “That I’ve missed you,” I say.
He stares at me, his green eyes wandering over my face, trying to search out the lie. He won’t find it. Because it’s the truth. On some level, at least.
His eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t have to drug a girl who missed me,” he points out.
I shrug one shoulder. “You did kidnap me. How am I supposed to react to that?”
For a few seconds, he just stares at me, like he’s trying to decide whether or not to believe me. I’d kill to hear the thoughts zipping in his head right now.
In the end, he leans in again. “Kiss me.”
It’s a test, I can feel it. If he senses even a hint of hesitation, he’ll know.
So, I sit up, legs folded under me, lean forward, and kiss him.
He sucks in a breath as I thread my fingers through his short, thick hair, all the while pushing forward, so he’s forced back against the pile of pillows behind him.
The kiss is deep, my tongue sweeping into his mouth, our hot breath entangled.
I inch forward even more until I’m straddling him, my thighs spread over his hips.
He’s hard, I can feel it. We’re both still clothed, but I can feel the unmistakable ridge of his erection as it brushes against my center.
But I don’t make contact, because with guys like Jackson, you can’t give it up all at once.
You have to tempt, tease. Deny.
He laughs as I devour him, the deep rumble vibrating through me. “There she is,” he says between kisses. “There’s my girl.”