Chapter 16 - Jackson #2
His eyes go flat, and that’s when I know he’s done holding himself together.
The snap is silent, but I feel it.
“Shall we both see if I have it in me?”
By the time I realize he’s only a few feet away, it’s too late.
I try to move away, to flee, but my legs are too heavy. He reaches me easily, his hand shooting out to grab me by the back of the neck. His grip is harsh, punishing, making me wince. I try to fight him off, but it’s like my movements are in slow motion.
“What are you doing?!” I attempt to twist away, but he only tightens his hold. “Let go!”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
He drags me onto the bridge, right to the middle and over to the edge.
I dig my heels into the hard asphalt, but it does no good.
He shoves me against the stone guardrail, and my hands dart out to grip the wall.
It doesn’t stop him from tipping my upper body over the ledge until I’m forced to look down at the raging river that may as well be as violent and furious as he is.
I can’t decide what’s louder—the roaring of the water below or the rushing of blood in my ears as fear wraps its hand around my throat.
“Please, stop!”
“What do they say, Jackson? Did I catch him off guard? Or was he already dead before he hit the water?”
His words are a low growl as his hand moves from the back of my neck to grab a fistful of my hoodie.
His other hand comes up and grasps my upper arm tight, lifting me just enough so the toes of my shoes are barely scraping the ground.
I claw at the stone, waiting for my life to flash before my eyes.
As he leans in, his breath is scorching against the shell of my ear, a contrast to the freezing air around us. His next words come out lower and deeper than before.
“Or maybe I fucked him before throwing him over?”
My blood turns to ice as he thrusts his hips against my side. He’s not hard, not fully, but I can feel his cock give a twitch against my hip.
I’d wonder what the fuck is wrong with him if I wasn’t too busy wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. It’s probably the adrenaline, but there’s something intoxicating knowing he wants me at least as much as he wants to kill me.
When a whimper slips past my lips, I’m not sure if it’s born from desire or surrender.
It’s my body’s final betrayal.
My mind is all tangled up with terror and lust, a confusing jumble of fear and want. But as I stare down at the turbulent river, fear wins out.
“Isaac, please,” I beg, the words coming out as a sob.
Immediately, his hold loosens, and my feet fall flat onto the ground. The way he continues holding onto me seems to shift. It’s not with cruelty, not quite, but something that borders on it. A hunger edged with restraint.
“Fuck.”
It’s a whisper lost in the wind before he finally releases me. The grip that had pinned me against the stone is gone, but its ghost lingers. A bruise of warmth fading too fast.
It’s not until his presence disappears from my back that I realize my eyes are watering. The air bites, but I know it’s not from the cold. It’s from the fear. The panic. The pure adrenaline that’s been thrumming through my bones.
My entire body still shakes, my breathing harsh and ragged. My heart continues to pound so loud it drowns out the sound of the current. I can still feel where his breath brushed the back of my neck when he hissed my name.
Like he owned it.
Like he owned me.
As the fear finally starts to ebb, something else takes its place.
Anger.
Hot, raw, pulsing under my skin.
Shoving off the wall, I turn to see Isaac’s back as he walks away, the hem of his overcoat snapping in the wind like it’s trying to chase him.
Hell no.
He doesn’t get to fucking walk away. Not after that.
“You fucking asshole!”
The words rip from my throat, jagged and too loud in the empty night. They echo off the asphalt and stone, bleeding into the roar of the river.
Isaac stops mid-step. He spins back around and takes several steps toward me, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury. This time, I hold my ground as the shadows cut hard across his face, making him look half sculpted, half haunted.
“You’re the one who followed me!”
“And you nearly threw me off a fucking bridge!”
His jaw tightens. “Language.”
He’s out of leverage, but the audacity of it still manages to snap something in me.
I take a step, nearly closing the distance between us until I can see the uneven rhythm of his breath blooming in the cold.
“Fuck. You.”
The silence that follows is heavy and dangerous, hanging between us like the drop beneath our feet. His shoulders tense, his eyes flashing with something I can’t read. Rage or regret, maybe both.
For a moment, I think he might walk away again, turn his back and disappear into the mist rolling low across the bridge until he’s nothing but a shadow swallowed by the night, gone forever.
For some reason, that scares me even more than the fall.
Instead, all it takes is one more step for him to reach out and wrap his hand around my throat. He uses his grip to haul me forward so quickly that I stumble, crashing into his chest.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not gentle or sweet.
It’s a collision. Desperate and consuming. Like all the fear and anger and want between us snapped in the same instant.
My hands fist in the front of his coat, dragging him impossibly closer. His grip on my throat eases but doesn’t disappear, guiding me, grounding me. The kiss burns through every sliver of panic still clinging to my ribs, stealing my breath and replacing it with something hot and dizzying.
His other hand curls around the back of my neck, keeping me in place. Holding me together. Holding me up.
As his lips move against mine, commanding them to open so his tongue can dive between them, I realize with humiliating clarity why the thought of him walking away terrified me.
Because after the fear of thinking he might throw me over that wall—or worse, leave me alone in the dark—I needed him to do the opposite.
I needed him to stay.
To touch me, to anchor me.
To take the fear he caused and smother it with something stronger.
He kisses me harder, and I melt into it, into him. Into the coarse sweep of his beard, the warmth of his body, and the claiming of his mouth. The world goes quiet except for us. Reckless and alive.
Even if I don’t understand what we are, or what the hell just happened on this bridge…
Right now, in his hands, in his kiss, I feel wanted.
And God help me, I want him to never let go.