Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FRANCESCA
My nerves are shredded when I get ready for school on Monday morning. The videos for Kincaid had been a fun tease but when I curled in bed last night, I wasn’t laughing. Over the weekend, I phoned and texted Aidan half a dozen times, hoping the brush-off on Friday was my overactive imagination.
He didn’t reply.
The last few messages haven’t even been read.
Our friendship appears to be over, and I’m troubled he hasn’t told me face to face. Aidan is many things, but a coward isn’t one of them. Not that it takes a genius to guess the root cause.
He’s been getting chummy with Ezra and from what I’ve observed, he and his cousin don’t get along. Whichever side it came from, one of the Tana boys has threatened something to keep him away.
I know how much rugby means to Aidan. How he’s pinned his entire future on the sport.
His family might be wealthier than mine—not a hard ask—but he’s not in the same league as the truly wealthy kids. I understand choosing his sport over me, especially since he has a thousand other friends to cushion the loss.
It still makes me sad.
And if it’s Kincaid, the fact he stripped away my only friend is another klaxon, warning me there could be worse in store if I let myself fall deeper under his spell. Each time we’re together, I trust him more, like him more, laugh with him more, and it’s dangerous.
My growing affection is most likely a normal reaction to sex that would happen with any partner, and I’m just too naive to know. My only other experience was with Ezra, who frightened and revolted me, hardly a good comparison.
It’s insane to like the psychopath who told me he could obliterate my face with a shotgun in the same tone of voice he asks what I’d like for lunch.
I need to learn how to be stronger. To resist him inside, where it counts. To stop thinking about him all the time we’re apart.
But memories place him beside me in the bedroom. He waits in the kitchen, hands touching me everywhere while I make a proper coffee with fresh beans, using the complicated machine he bought me.
The sensation of his tongue on my breasts, of his cum coating my tongue, of his greedy mouth sucking my lip, of his adoring eyes watching as he rubbed me against his massive cock spoils my attempts to make myself breakfast.
Which is probably for the best considering how uneasily the hot drink sits in my stomach.
I’m about to leave when there’s a knock on the door and I stare out the side window at the shiny orange car parked at the curb. There’s only one person that could belong to, and I glare at it with resentful eyes, trying to hate its sleek lines and rich colour. Like I can’t make my own damn way to school?
Kincaid this early on a Monday morning is asking too much from my shattered composure, but there’s no choice but to open the door.
“Morning, Freckles.” He tilts his head, considering me for a long moment, then grins. “Did you wake on the wrong side of your tiny little bed?”
“Funnily enough, I was in a great mood up to a minute ago.”
I shoo him back, turning to lock the door, and he snorts. “Are you protecting burglars from the inside of your house? Because there’s nothing in there worth stealing.”
I stop in place.
“Come on,” he says, patting my behind.
“Oh, we’re going, are we? I thought we were just going to stand here, abusing the poor girl for not having the foresight to be born to a rich family like some arseholes she could name.”
“Rawr.” He claws his fingers.
“Fuck you.” I stomp to my vehicle, ignoring the new car that probably cost his uncle more than the combined total of every house on this street.
“Wrong way, Freckles.”
“I have my own car. I can make my own way to school, thank you very much.”
He leans back against the side door, arms folded as he watches me get into my battered car and turn the key. I’m used to it struggling with the cold, but this time, nothing happens. Just a dull click when I turn the key. Kincaid smirks like he knew it wouldn’t start.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing much. It was beyond saving.” He opens the passenger door on the flashy vehicle, waving his hand towards it. “Hurry up. We’re cutting it fine to reach homeroom on time.”
“No, I want to ride in my own damn car.”
“That’ll be a problem.” He reaches inside, then holds up a tangled collection of valves and wires. “I grabbed these but don’t have the slightest idea how to put them back. You?”
I rub my forehead. Awful as his behaviour is, it hits my funny bone, and I struggle to hold back laughter.
Resist!!!
“Nice to see you checking off the abusive scorecard.” I force a stern expression and count them off on my fingers. “First you stalk me at school, then you invite yourself into my home. You more than likely are the reason my best friend no longer talks to me.” I narrow my eyes, but his expression doesn’t alter enough to tell me if I’m right or wrong. “Now you’re stripping away my only form of transport.” I fold my arms and glare. “Call a mechanic if you don’t know how to fix what you broke. I’ll wait.”
“You forgot handing in your resignation without your input, and your list sounds a bit judgemental for a girlfriend.” He arches an eyebrow at the reminder, then pulls a set of keys from his pocket, tossing them to me. “Besides, this isn’t my vehicle. It’s yours.”
“It’s…” I stare at him in disbelief, then gaze at the expensive machine parked behind him. “What?”
He clamps his lips together, failing to hide the smile. “You need a new car, and this is surplus to requirements, so it’s yours.” He opens the passenger side door, resting his palm on the low window. “The title is currently in another name but that’s just till I sort your insurance.”
“You’ve giving me this car?” I don’t even know which part to emphasise. That’s he’s giving me a car or that it’s this car. The type of vehicle girls like me aren’t meant to own. “What happened to me paying off the debt?”
“It keeps growing larger and larger, just like…”
He smirks and before he can reference what I know he’s going to, I break in with, “Can you drive us to school? My hands are shaking.”
I toss the keys back and get into the passenger seat while he walks to the driver’s side of the car.
My car.
I sit inside, running my hands over the dashboard before closing the door with a satisfying thunk.
“It’s a gift, Freckles, not something you need to repay.”
I lean across the centre console and kiss him, surprising both of us, and it’s nice. Better than nice. My fingers stroke his luscious hair, tugging when the ache in my chest grows until it hurts… yet still feels strangely good.
A small cry of protest escapes my throat when he pulls away, his strange bronze eyes glowing, his expression dazed.
Satisfaction fills me at the evidence I’ve thrown him off-kilter. A gasp of power that—if nurtured—could turn into a roar.
When Kincaid starts the engine, he clears his throat a few times before resuming the previous conversation. “You’re right that my uncle is rich, but he still makes me work for my money, it’s not handed to me. I’ve been doing jobs for him since I was fourteen.”
“Ridiculously high-paying jobs.”
He flashes his beautiful smile. “Well, I do have specialised skills.”
The knuckles gripping the wheel are crisscrossed with scars, covered in fresh bruises. “Okay, I concede the point.”
I return his easy grin before I can stop myself. Then leave it in place because it’s too late to take back, and it feels good to laugh with him instead of at my expense.
Kincaid leans over and pulls the seatbelt across my chest, his knuckles pressing against my chest, goosebumps erupting from his touch. His face hovers close enough to see every detail of his exquisite features while his breath whispers across my throat.
Taking his time, he adjusts the strap to lie flat, each accidental caress sending a tingle into my core until it pulses with anticipation.
His broad palm briefly cups my cheek, thumb stroking across the freckled skin near my hairline. There’s a guttural note to his voice as he says, “That’s better. We don’t want you to die if I pump the brakes too hard.”
No. Wouldn’t want to kill me by accident before you drown me on purpose.
The retort is right there, on my lips, but I swallow it, not wanting to spoil the moment.
A six-foot-four drop-dead handsome rugby god just bought me a fantasy car and no matter the consequences still to come, I’m going to revel in the vegan leather upholstery, the solidity of the seat moulded like he knew my exact dimensions and had it handmade to size. I’ll enjoy the quiet hum of the engine. A motor that doesn’t care if the ground is white with frost.
I can’t stop running my hands over the seat, the dash, the inside of the door, winding the window up and down despite the outside temperature.
It is, hands down, the absolute greatest gift ever.
In this moment, I could easily fall for the rich, gorgeous, athletic boy who is a tapestry weaved from the darkest threads.
During the ride to school, I investigate the dashboard, familiarising myself with the glowing array of lights, occasionally bumping against Kincaid’s arm when I lean over too far. The icons are so different from my old vehicle, I open the glovebox, hunting for a manual.
When I pull it out, a plastic bag falls into my lap. The interior is streaked with brown with a lump in the middle. I pick it up, turning it over with a frown, trying to identify the contents. There’s a trio of creased lines and a…
I yelp and throw the bag into the footwell, recognising a nail. The creases are a knuckle.
It’s a severed thumb.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I croak, quickly moving past my shock. I bend to retrieve the digit, fascinated enough to look closer. The flesh is discoloured with blotches of blue, brown, and purple. The nail has deep striations that remind me of Kincaid’s warning about a possible vitamin deficiency.
The more obvious deficiency in this case being the lack of a body.
“You can just toss that into the gutter,” Kincaid says, eyes lingering on me, a slight furrow to his brow.
“Isn’t it to unlock something?”
“Already done.” He gives me another quick glance, this time faintly amused. “Biometrics only work for the first hour or two, then the electrical charge under the skin dies and you may as well be using a plastic cast. It won’t work.”
“You can’t zap it back to life with a battery?”
“Only if you’re Doctor Frankenstein.”
His hand moves from the stick shift to my knee, fingers sliding underneath my kilt to cup my bare inner thigh, skin tingling like it’s trying to prove his theory.
I turn the thumb over, seeing the dull tinge of blue where there should be pink, the dirt lodged under the nails, never getting the chance to be washed clean. I wonder if its owner is still alive or if they also need a lightning jolt to reanimate.
But those aren’t the questions to ask on this crisp wintry morning when I’m sitting in my beautiful new car.
So, I follow his instruction, roll down the window, and toss it.
As I do, an insane idea pops into my head. One that scares me worse than anything that’s happened.
Ask him for help. He can easily sort out your problem.
And hand him leverage he could use to control me? Not just in high school but for the rest of my life?
No, thanks, Captain Crazy.
I push it from my thoughts, already suspecting the impulse won’t stay banished for long.