16. Bay
SIXTEEN
bay
“Mid-semester finals are coming up!” my professor yells over the bell as the rustling of students get out of their seats and grab their things off the floor. “Study, study, study! Email me with any questions.”
With my backpack in hand, I pivot to leave the room. My morning coffee isn’t doing a thing to wake me up for my other two classes.
I don’t want to be here, but I figured I paid for the courses so I might as well finish them up. Dad didn’t raise a quitter. He wanted me to do this, so I’m doing it for him. When Levi and I leave South Shore, I’ll pick up where I left off, apply for financial aid and maybe focus more than I have been able to recently.
“Bay.” My feet come to a halt as Professor Parker calls out for me. “Can you come up here for a moment?”
I want to say no.
I’m not in the mood. I know I’m behind, and I have zero clue how the hell I’m going to pass this class. However, I’m not going to ignore the man and continue to waltz out of class.
Whipping around, I march up to his desk. His concerned gaze falls on me as he throws his pen onto his desk before flicking his attention to the rest of the room, waiting for it to empty so he can speak freely.
“Do you mind if I ask how things are going?” he mutters as I string my arm through the other strap of my backpack.
Yep. I do. Don’t wanna talk about it.
He must pick up that I’m not in the mood when he adds, “I’m concerned about your grades. I know you’ve submitted quite a few things to me, but this class is hard, Miss Astor. And cramming isn’t going to help you.”
He’s not wrong.
Professional Ethics is no joke when you can’t focus or be in class more than half the time.
“I don’t have a choice,” I reply honestly. “I’m doing the best I can.”
He bobs his head. He’s tried to get me to drop out of this class twice already, but I said no because of Dad. I’m definitely not doing it now.
“Was there anything else?” I ask, anxious to get out of this conversation and into my car. I have about forty minutes until my next class which gives me enough time to check in with Levi—because it just makes me feel better—and some space to chill.
“No, thank you, Miss Astor.”
I exit the room and stride down the hallway of the school, passing lockers and windows that stream warm rays of sunlight inside.
I’m through the double-set doors and across the parking lot when I feel it.
A sudden cold chill that runs down my body as I slowly glimpse over my shoulder. My palm hovers over the handle of my car door, telling me to just rip it open.
I do.
I definitely do when I see Torin Wildes standing by the trunk of my car and staring at me like he just lost his fucking puppy.
Maybe I’ll just accidentally throw my car in reverse and hit his ass.
“Wildfire,” he calls out, sending a ripple effect of pain coursing through me. It’s not physical, all mental. All caused by how quickly he flipped the script and turned on me.
I’m about to sit in my car, when his large hand wraps around my bicep and turns me to face him. Spine pinned against the cool metal of my car. His warmth suffocates me into remembering how it felt when he wanted to be around me all the time.
Touching me, kissing me, the words he said that don’t even matter anymore.
“Get the fuck away from me, Wildes,” I snap, ripping my arm from his grasp and shoving him back a step.
I don’t bother peering up at him.
My eyes will only latch onto his chest because the first option would mean I’d have to fall again, and I don’t want to do that.
“Look at me.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I move again to get back inside my car, but he’s quick to block me, sandwiching his body between mine and the door again.
“We need to talk.”
I scoff, thinking about going to the other side of my car to get the fuck in. “We don’t.”
“We do.”
His tone dips, and I bat away the annoying flutters in my stomach. I can smell the sweet malty smell of liquor on his body, hinting that he’s been drinking again.
However, I will not fall for his shit. His actively seeking me out screams red flags all damn day long.
“I need you…to look at me.”
“For what?” I do exactly what he says without meaning to. Those tawny browns immediately seize me into a small episode of panic.
Oh, no. I’m not going backward.
No.
He studies me, searching for something he needs while I lose myself in his face. Those perfect cuts and edges where a light brush of facial hair starts to grow. Those full lips that set in a fine line because this isn’t ideal.
Us—we’re not ideal.
Maybe we were the two stupidest out of the group to attempt anything.
At least Cairo stayed the fuck away. Torin and I knew what we were getting ourselves into, but we kept moving forward. We ignored all the warning signs for a while and took what we wanted, consequences be damned.
And they damned me alright.
They tore through my whole family, my life. They made me feel hopeless and forged a marriage I don’t want to be in with a man I don’t know and a sperm donor who I don’t want to deal with.
My instincts screamed for me to stay away from Torin Wildes, and I still progressed when I should’ve given every single fuck.
“I miss you.”
My eyes expand at his comment, and my head begins rocking back and forth, not wanting to accept any of his lies. Even if they sound beautiful and therapeutic to my ears.
“Should’ve thought of that before you?—”
“I didn’t think,” he admits. “I didn’t…I fucking hate you. You have no idea.”
My stomach drops and coils as my body and mind try to defend against the things he has no right to say to me.
I shouldn’t care, not after everything. Not after all the things he’s done to me.
But my feelings for him run deep and, apparently, they’re rooted pretty solidly in the ground right now.
I want to rip them out and burn them.
Torin’s hand reaches up for my face, but I turn away, not able to feel his skin on mine. My heart accelerates, and my breathing is quicker, trying to plateau out and remain calm.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
Torin’s stubborn, motherfuckin’ ass doesn’t stop, still extending his hand to wrap around my jaw and run his thumb down the corner of my lips. He surprisingly doesn’t turn my head, allowing me something for once.
“Why are you so fucking addicting to me?”
I want to melt into a puddle right the hell now. The octave of his voice, the unalloyed need…I’m not strong enough for this, and I have no problem admitting that.
“You…should keep your comments to yourself,” I mutter, failing at how strong I want to sound. “I can hear you.”
“You’re meant to hear them,” he retorts softly. “I need you to know what you do to me.”
“Should I show you what you do to me?”
“No. I have a feeling it involves a knife or a gun.”
“I prefer something more bloody and satisfying.” Torin shifts, forcing me to back up against the car door as he aligns his body with mine. “Leave me alone, Pretty Boy.”
God, sound like you mean it, Astor.
“I want to. I want to so fucking bad. But you’ve got a hold on me. I don’t want you to anymore.”
I keep my eyes on his chest. “Go find someone else to fuck, then.”
His thumb runs down the side of my mouth again as he gently holds my chin in the palm of his hand. “That fucking mouth of yours…”
“Will never stop running. Now let me go or I’m going to punch you in the balls.”
“You’re leaving.”
My blood immediately runs cold. I’m instantly aware of what he’s talking about. What Levi and I have been speaking about for days.
No one else knows.
No one.
Not Juice or Hot Rod. Not the girls.
No fucking one.
I force my gaze to remain where it is so he can’t read a thing.
How does he know? What gave it away?
“You thought you were going to up and leave me, Wildfire.” His thumb runs over the fullness of my bottom lip, dragging it down before I feel him lean forward. “Did you do everything you were supposed to do? To wreck me?”
“I’m tired of talking to you about this,” I mutter, smelling the oaky hints of caramel from the bourbon he’s been drinking. “Get away from me.”
He tilts my head up and leans farther in, catching my next inhale as he locks those amber eyes with mine. “Then give me something worth experiencing the pain over.”
Torin is quick to act, his mouth falling to mine in a brutal kiss that demands satisfaction. He captures my bottom lip like he did the vital organ that’s currently sprinting in my chest. His sharp teeth graze down the soft flesh there before coming back to soothe it away.
My hand shoots up to his chest but does nothing.
Not when Torin’s tongue slides easily between my lips, mangling with mine before a deep, feral growl leaves his chest. His firm body pushes me harder into the metal behind me, taxing my patience and need for self-awareness. I can taste the strong and rich aftermath of alcohol off his tongue.
He’s been drinking—a lot. It’s strong and as though I’m taking a sip right now.
He’s in his feelings and sought me out. I’m also highly aware he can’t keep yanking me back into him for his own mental health. That once was enough and all our heads can fucking take.
But he’s like a damn drug. He feels so good, the way he mollifies my body and ramps it up at the same time. The dependency of how he makes me feel alive, fucking needed, and desired.
Lies.
They are all lies.
My head catches up with my body, pushing him back, holding my palm on the hard planes of his chest to keep him from getting any closer to me again.
“Don’t touch me,” I breathe out with zero strength behind it. “I don’t want you.”
I feel the heavy intakes of oxygen sinking in and out of Torin’s chest, affected in the same way I am. The push and pull that titters back and forth between us.
And someone needs to put a stop to it.
“Your body says different,” he rebuffs, circling his fingers around my wrist and towing my arm to wrap around his neck. He steps forward then, taking back his place against me to close the distance between our lips again. “And so does mine.”
I shake my head, just for his hand to envelop my jaw tighter to keep me still.
He wants to control me.
The situation.
Us.
He may not be able to stay away for too long, but we’re not going to fall back into this easily again. Because last time, it was too fucking easy. That’s why we’re standing here.
And because I stabbed his brother.
“Torin,” I utter, trying to pull more strength from somewhere inside me to sound more adamant. “Leave?—”
“Kiss me back,” he snarls, licking at my lips and demanding I follow his lead. “Show me that you missed me, too.”
I don’t.
I so fucking do.
Love is for the fucking stupid. I can only imagine how much more this would hurt if I was full-blown, head over heels in love with him. I have very deep-seated feelings for him, and I hate myself for even that. For doing this to my family because I couldn’t keep my damn legs shut.
He’s a damn pandemic to my existence and everyone in it. He will kill or maim us all. He will tear me into tiny pieces that will blow into the ocean and never be found again.
The base of his hand slides up my face, holding the side of it as he kisses me with fervor, a need that demands to be sated and confirmed. I follow him, though, like a damn sheep.
I know I shouldn’t, that’s the thing.
My beautiful, broken, and paranoid Pretty Boy. The one who’s lost and probably feels alone. Who fell in love with a girl who semi-murdered his brother.
I’m enamored with him, however.
The way his mouth feels against mine. That fucking body and the tang of liquor in his mouth. I want to soak it all in and get drunk off my ass to forget for just a minute.
A day.
But I can’t.
Adult responsibilities and shit.
“I love you,” he whispers, causing my eyes to clench harder to keep any tears from forming. “And you have to die.”
He removes his lips, and it’s quickly replaced with a cloth clasped over my mouth.
My hands go to his to yank it away, smelling what seems to be disinfectant chemicals, but then Torin begins to blur in my vision, and I don’t remember shit after that.