Chapter 3
REN
I follow much closer behind her than I usually would when I realize that she’s stumbling all over the sidewalk.
If she’s not careful, she’s gonna fall into the road, and I’m furious at her for being so stupid.
Eloise has lived half of her life being cautious; coming out the house, at night, alone and drunk isn’t just out of character for her, it’s fucking reckless.
She stops at a trash can to get rid of the empty bottle of tequila, and when she spins around, I step back into a doorway so she doesn’t see me.
The last thing I want to do is scare her, but I can’t risk her being out here late at night by herself.
She lets the couple I was using as a barrier between us pass her by, so I give her enough time to get ahead before I step back out onto the sidewalk and resume following her.
She doesn’t get far before she stops for a second time, and when she suddenly darts off toward the alley beside her, I pick up my pace to catch up with her.
This is New York, and despite what I heard her telling herself in her little pep talk before she left, no neighbourhood is safe.
Young, vulnerable women should not enter alleys after dark.
I slowly lean my head around the wall and catch her being sick into a dumpster. When she finishes, I quickly pull back, pressing my back tight against the wall so she doesn’t spot me. Hopefully, this will be enough to make her see sense and go home.
From what I could see, she drained that bottle of tequila, which means she’s gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting to punish her for being so fucking reckless.
I hear her snort a laugh, and when curiosity gets the better of me and I take another look around the corner, she’s lying on the floor.
“ Shit. ” She’s not laughing anymore, her eyes are closed, and it looks to me like she’s fallen back and hit her head.
Despite the risk of her seeing me, I have to check that she’s okay.
So, racing toward her, I crouch to the floor and rest my head against her chest, making sure she's breathing. I’m close enough to hear her heartbeat, I can feel her chest rise and fall against my cheek, and I fist the dress she’s wearing to try and ease some of the tension in my body.
I’ve never been this close to her before, and I can feel temptation clawing at me from the inside.
I should take her to the nearest hospital, get her checked over, but I don’t want anyone else taking care of her.
I want it to be me. I want it to be me so much that I risk everything and slide my arms under her limp body to lift her from the ground.
She’s a dead weight, but still easy to carry as I start making my way back to her apartment.
I get a few strange looks from the people I pass, not just because I’m carrying an unconscious female, but also because I didn't have time to get dressed properly. As soon as I figured she was leaving her apartment in the state she was in, I rushed out to follow her. All I’m wearing is a pair of sweatpants.
The fact my skin is covered in tattoos doesn't exactly make me look like a friendly guy next door. Seeing me carrying this pretty, passed-out girl through the streets is bound to raise some suspicion, but I don’t care what people think.
Eloise Meadows may not be mine, but she’s always been mine to protect, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I place her carefully on the ground and prop her against the wall when I get to her door, and to save time going through her purse, I use the key I have to gain us entry.
Once I’ve unlocked the door, I pick her back up, hauling her over my shoulder so I can carry her up the stairs to her apartment.
I grip my arm tight around her thighs, letting her upper body dangle over my back, and her limp hands slap against the back of my thighs as I take each step.
I breathe her in while I have the chance, appreciating every fucking detail of being this close so I can imprint them into my memories.
It’s unlike me to act on impulse, and this is a bad idea. Feeding my hunger is only going to make me want her more, but I can worry about that once I’ve taken care of her.
I use the other key I have to let us into her apartment and head straight toward her bed so I can lay her down. Rolling her on her side, I check the back of her head, and when I feel a bump, I rush to the freezer to get some ice.
She’s still lying static on the bed where I left her when I return with the ice wrapped in a kitchen towel, and when I apply it to her injury, the cold shocks her body enough to make her stir.
“Shhhhh.” I soothe her, keeping the cloth pressed to the back of her head and stroking the hair out of her face at the same time. I let my thumb stroke over her soft cheek and smile to myself when the sides of her lips hitch up as if she likes the way it feels.
“You're a very bad girl, Eloise Meadows,” I whisper before leaning down and pressing a kiss on her forehead. I hold my lips against her skin for way longer than I should before slowly pulling away, then, moving the covers of her bed so she’s beneath them, I tuck her in nice and safe.
Keeping the ice held against her head, I continue to watch her up close.
I count her breaths, and I stroke her soft, delicate skin.
Then, for the rest of the night, I watch her and pretend that she’s mine.