Chapter 10 #3
His shit-eating grin never falters, and even as he spreads butter on a piece of fresh brown bread, his gaze remains fixed on me.
When his foot brushes mine under the table again, I snarl softly and kick him back.
Whatever reaction I’m hoping for, he doesn’t give it to me.
Larkin doesn’t yelp or gasp or hiss. He doesn’t pull his leg away or say something about how I need to watch myself.
Instead, he just uses his longer legs to trap one of mine between his before jerking me off balance again so my ass is on the edge of the bench.
I have to grab for the table, my fingers scrabbling against the smooth material as I shove backward to stay upright. My glare levels at Larkin, who just looks at me like there’s nothing in the world going on out of the ordinary.
“So you were born on Whidbey Island,” Larkin muses, and my attention is suddenly dragged to his face at the statement.
“How did you—?”
“And you killed your mother when you were twelve. Not very nice of you.” He pauses long enough to get his drink from the bartender, that winning grin on his face and a twenty in his hand he slips to the man as a tip.
The bartender gives his thanks and leaves, then Larkin sips at the drink, nose wrinkled a little in a sneer, before he takes another drink.
“Your mother raised horses. Your father was an accountant. He killed himself. That’s what the report says, but I’ve been wondering. Did he kill himself, or did you get lucky and figure out how to stage the scene so they’d never think differently?”
I’m cold.
I’m so cold that I shiver, and I finally glance out the window to the dark parking lot and the cars there, streetlights on and shining against the tinted glass.
For a moment, I don’t answer. I’m too busy with the cold, with the trembling, with the memories of that night. I’ve done such a good job becoming someone different, becoming Tova, that to hear someone speak so frankly to me about back then is different.
It’s unexpected, to say the least.
“I didn’t kill my dad,” I breathe, any resentment gone from my soft voice.
“My dad was a good person. He tried. He—” My voice wavers.
How do I tell someone that I’d hoped we could just have a new life together?
That I hoped without Mom in the way, Dad would love me without fear of retribution from Mom in her deteriorating state?
The simple answer? I don’t.
The silence between us is uncomfortable, especially with the way Larkin just watches me in an unnervingly intense way. Finally, I sit back, my mouth open, but our over-eager waitress takes that moment to pop back in to make sure Larkin got his drink and to offer us more bread.
Which, in all actuality, is probably a good thing.
I need the distraction from wanting to stab him, and bread is the universe’s miracle cure.
Dinner isn’t quiet, exactly. It’s filled with Larkin’s random questions and me trying to remember that I can’t stab him with my steak knife.
But I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what I’m thinking, because every time I go to cut my steak or pick it up, he tilts his head and gives me that too-sweet smile I could never trust.
God, I wish he wasn’t so attractive and charming.
I wish he were dirty and gross. I wish he didn’t exude confidence and control so I could more easily sneer at him and plan his murder. My entire body itches with the desire to get away from him, sure, but at the same time, I want more.
Once we’re finished and outside of Cider House Grill, I move to head back to my apartment, only for Larkin to catch me by the arm. “And where do you think you’re going, silly girl?” he purrs, dragging me close. “Did I tell you we were done?”
My heart lurches in my chest and I turn to glare at him, the embers of my anger seething to life in my chest. “Fuck you,” I snarl quietly, trying to jerk free. “We’re done. You’ve ruined my night—”
He whirls me around, slamming me into the side of the building in the shadow between streetlights. His hand grips my hair hard enough that I can’t help but gasp at the sweet-sharp pain, and he pulls so my back is arched, my head tipped back.
A low sound like a sneering growl leaves him, but I'm too busy fighting his hand in my hair to get a look at his face. “We’re not done,” he states again, slowly, like I need him to spell it out for me. “Not until I say so.”
“Oh, yeah?” I pant. “What are you going to do? Drag me back to your place like this? Someone will notice. Someone will—” My words end in a yelp when he jerks me off the wall and leads me through the parking lot by my hair, fully willing to drag me if I slow down.
I hear a car being unlocked, and the quiet click followed by an unfamiliar noise.
“I don’t need to drag you anywhere,” Larkin tells me sweetly, transferring his grip to my throat. “Not anymore, at least. Modern technology makes up for that. Now…” He walks me backward until my legs bump into something, and when I twist around, I see the gaping maw of a trunk.
A fucking trunk.
“You can scream, cry, or try to McGuiver your way out of this,” Larkin invites cruelly.
“Don’t you dare—”
“But you’ll just tire yourself out before the main event, Tova.”
“No, I don’t—”
But he doesn’t care about my words. With a strength that surprises me, Larkin lifts me up and sweeps my legs out from under me. I barely get the chance to cry out, and my hands uselessly jerk toward him before he’s slammed the trunk, plunging me into absolute darkness.