Chapter 7 #2
Every wheezing breath, every stumble, every argument, only confirms I’m exactly what this horrible jerk expected me to be.
God, I hate that.
Every stretch of trail feels endless, and an agonizing stitch has appeared in my side as we round a dense clump of trees, revealing a fork in the trail. Mallory doesn’t pause, taking the right.
I could cry when I see how much farther it goes on, and my distraction costs me. My foot hooks on a protruding root, and I stumble, only narrowly avoiding falling on my face. When I recover, straightening up, I'm infuriated to see the man beside me smirking.
“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” I spit, hating how winded I sound.
He makes a noncommittal noise in response, eyes roaming over the forest. “Your father hired me to do a job. I’m doing the job.”
“No,” I snap back. “You’re a sadistic, crusty turd who enjoys watching me suffer.”
This time, he gives a tiny huff of a laugh. Not amused—just acknowledging the accuracy. “For what it’s worth,” he tells me, “this isn’t personal. I assure you, neither of us wants to be here.”
His words give me pause, but I have more pressing concerns before I begin wondering what or who brought Damien Mallory to Thornhurst. “It feels personal.”
“That’s because you’re taking it personally, which isn’t surprising.”
I stop dead in my tracks.
He continues another two steps before realizing and turns back to face me, brows raised but otherwise unfazed. “Why are you stopping?”
My hands tighten into fists at my sides. “Because, just like last night, you’re being an asshole for no reason!” I snarl. “You don’t even know me! What the hell is your problem?”
His eyes flick over me—sweaty, gasping, probably more red-faced than I’d like to believe—and something in his expression shifts slightly, as if he’s recalibrating. “If I wanted to be an asshole, you’d know it.”
I blink, momentarily stunned. “Is… is that supposed to be reassuring?”
He merely lifts his wrist to examine his fitness watch, already jogging again. “Let’s go. You have thirty seconds before the next interval starts.”
The noise I make in response is somewhere between hysterical laugh and resigned groan as I force my unwilling limbs after him yet again.
We’re moving deeper into the forest now, where the trees have grown closer together, and pale morning light barely manages to break through the dense canopy of branches overhead.
Long, shimmering shoots of it cut across the path here and there, and the air smells like damp earth and cold leaves.
The fog has thinned, and without it, it’s almost peaceful back here.
Yet with each step, a tangled mess of something keeps trying to crawl up my throat.
It’s painful, a horrible knot of shame, exhaustion, and resentment that is too big and too messy for me to properly untangle.
Especially in the presence of my current company.
I hate that he thinks he knows me.
And, more than that, I hate that I can’t point to a single thing I’ve ever done which would prove him wrong.
Another vague span of time passes in a painful blur of burning lungs and weakening muscles.
Mallory moves confidently, like his joints are lubricated with decades of hard-earned superiority.
Every time I glance at him, hoping to see some signs of fatigue, some signs of him being an actual human being, Mallory is still jogging at the same steady, effortless pace.
“Walk,” he instructs again, after a while passes, and he can apparently sense I’m about to drop right onto the forest floor.
I practically collapse into the reprieve, bending forward to brace my hands on my knees, panting as my head swims and stars dance at the edges of my vision. My legs are actually shaking.
“Stand up straight,” Mallory orders, his voice clipped, like he’s annoyed at having to waste the words on me. “You’ll breathe better.”
“Please,” I gasp, shaking my head. ”Let me die in peace, Satan.”
Mallory scoffs. “Dramatic, too, I see. For fuck’s sake, princess. Straighten up. Now.”
I groan but obey, lifting my torso with what feels like the very last of my body’s strength. Unfortunately, he’s right, and the difference is immediate.
I decide to resent him for that, too.
As I drag in greedy lungfuls of air, my eyes flick up the long line of Mallory’s body, jogging in place beside me again. He isn’t paying attention to my struggle for oxygen, too busy scanning the trees around us like he’s expecting paparazzi to pop out from behind a nearby patch of ferns.
“What exactly are you looking for?” I manage to pant, following his gaze.
By way of a response, Mallory merely lifts his chin toward the path scrolled out before us. “If you can’t run, walk. I have things to do and would rather not spend all morning watching you dry heave.”
God forbid I interfere with his important freaking schedule.
Every muscle in my body seems to protest my compliance, but I manage it, stumbling into step beside him. I’m not sure if it’s wishful thinking or not, but I could swear the forest is thinning a little up ahead, and in the distance, I can just make out the sound of waves crashing over a rocky beach.
Getting my hopes up has felt like a fool’s errand lately, but to my intense relief, it isn’t long before I get the first glimpse of the massive old house through the trees.
“I want you ready to go at six tomorrow,” Mallory informs me when we emerge at the edge of the sprawling back lawn, not even bothering to look at me as he gives the order, too busy poking at the screen of his fitness watch.
“Yeah, well, I want you to get eaten by a bear,” I bite back venomously as I force the weak, shaky muscles in my legs forward. “So, everyone’s disappointed.”
He ignores me. Again.
Maybe I deserve this after messing up Alba’s engagement and giving the entire internet a front row seat to my boobs, but knowing it doesn’t lessen the feelings of betrayal or resentment I have toward my parents and, by extension, Dad’s pet asshole.
Handing over my autonomy to people who have mostly ignored me my entire life, throwing money at my problems instead of teaching me how to handle them myself—god, is it any wonder I’m a useless, incompetent adult?
Mallory sees me all the way to the back kitchen door, but doesn’t pause, diverting course and heading toward the estate’s outbuildings. “Six o’clock, tomorrow!” he calls over his shoulder.
Woozy and weak-limbed, I pause with my hand on the doorknob, watching as he starts running again. His strides are long, effortless, and clearly experienced. The fucker probably runs every single morning, and now, he’s expecting me to do the same?
Face hot and heart still racing, I tear my eyes from Mallory’s retreating form and go inside.
I’m not going to take this—him—lying down. If there’s one thing I’m unusually talented at, it’s being difficult, and soon, my father’s sucky new head of security is going to know it, too.