20. Lilian
Lilian
T he walk across campus feels like some kind of performance—the flawless Hayes heir guiding his delicate stepsister back to her dorm. Except Arson isn’t performing anymore. He moves with a predator’s prowl, a jarring contrast to Aries’s deliberate cadence. Every subtle shift in his posture has me on edge, making me painfully aware of his presence.
He’s close enough that his arm brushes mine occasionally, and each time it’s like being zapped by an electric current. He’s constantly moving, his gaze scanning our surroundings, shoulders tense, his fists clenched. He’s barely contained violence, one pinprick away from exploding.
I look away as soon as he catches me watching him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says under his breath as we approach the dorm.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for me to snap.” His hand finds my lower back as he gives me a gentle but firm push forward.
“Sorry; you’re just different. It’s weird to see you being you , after you played him for such a long time.” His touch lingers longer than necessary, and I lean into it for a moment, testing him. His fingers dig in a little harder, a warning without spoken words.
“Well, get used to it. I have no need to pretend to be that coward anymore.” There’s so much hate in his voice it’s suffocating.
Once we’re in my room, the tension climbs higher. The space is too small for both of us, mainly him and his looming frame. He immediately checks the windows, closet, even under the bed—methodical, practiced movements speaking of institutional paranoia.
I brush off his worry and start packing, hyper-conscious of his prowling. Every time I reach for something, his eyes are on me, tracking the movement. When I bend to grab a pair of shoes from under the bed, his breath hitches audibly.
“Hurry up,” he growls.
“I’m sorry, is my packing an inconvenience to you?” I deliberately take my time folding a sweater before placing it in the bag. “I told you that you could stay back at the warehouse instead of tagging along, but you didn’t listen.”
He steps closer, heat radiating off his body. “And let you get yourself killed. Think again. I still need you. Now, stop being difficult and hurry the fuck up.”
“Stop being paranoid. I can’t focus on packing when you’re being all caveman-like.” I shiver involuntarily when his hand brushes my hip as he reaches past me to grab one of the medication bottles on my dresser.
“This all of it?” He studies the labels. “The heart meds?”
“Yes.” Why does he want to know? I can’t help but wonder what else he has planned?
“Why? Are you planning to drug me like you drug Aries?”
I watch as his grip tightens on the bottles, the plastic creaking under the pressure. “What I plan to do or not do with you is my choice. Finish packing and move faster.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I grumble angrily as I turn around. I make note of the dilation in his pupils, the slight flare of his nostrils as he sucks a harsh breath into his lungs. I can’t tell if he’s turned on or furious.
“Not fast enough.” His free hand shoots out, grasping my chin almost painfully. “I don’t think you’re ready to find out what happens when you disobey me, so stop with the antics.” He acts uninterested, but his body says otherwise. I notice the way his gaze drops to my lips, and how his thumb brushes my jaw almost unconsciously.
The waves of violence and desire pouring off him make my head spin.
Instead of giving into desire and making the first move I choose to tempt fate a little and reach around him for another sweater, letting my body brush against his. His grip on my chin tightens in warning.
“Just packing,” I tell him innocently. “Like you asked.”
His low growl suggests he’s not fooled by my performance. Good. I’m counting on it. He releases his hold on me and takes a couple of steps back. I try to ignore the way my heart aches at the disappearance of his touch.
“Those men,” I say casually, folding a shirt that definitely doesn’t need folding. “They said you’re behind schedule.”
Arson stills by the window, his reflection in the glass turning predatory. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Ask for more information about the people threatening me?” I move to my dresser, deliberately putting my back to him. “The ones who seem to own you?”
I sense the change in temperature, and in half a second he’s behind me, caging me against the dresser. “They don’t own me.”
“No?” I reach for my underwear drawer, and his entire body tenses behind me. “Then why did you panic when you saw their car?”
His hand slams down on the drawer before I can open it. “I don’t panic.”
“Right.” I lean back slightly, letting my body brush against his chest. “That wasn’t fear that I saw, just like what I’m feeling right now isn’t desire.”
He grips my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Careful, little girl.”
The threat in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly.
I turn to face him, lifting my chin. “Or what?” My voice is ice. “You’ll hurt me? Lock me away? Pretty sure that was already in the itinerary.”
His fingers tighten around my hip, a subtle warning. “You really think this is a game?”
“Isn’t it?” I reach up, smooth a wrinkle from his collar. The touch is small, almost tender—intimate enough to make his jaw tick. “You play the big bad wolf, and I’m the helpless little lamb. Isn’t that how this works?”
“There’s nothing helpless about you,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. His free hand lifts to my chest right over my surgical scar—not pressing, just resting there, like a promise.
A reminder.
“If you really believed that,” I whisper, pressing into him, “why treat me like I’ll break?”
He leans in, breath scorching the shell of my ear. “Because you don’t have the faintest fucking clue what I’d do to you if I stopped holding back.”
A shiver cuts down my spine, but I don’t flinch. “Then stop holding back.”
The silence between us sharpens. His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me he could. And then he releases me.
“No,” he says flatly. “Finish packing.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t step back. His body cages mine against the dresser. My hands remain on his chest, both of us breathing too hard, too fast.
“The men in the car,” I push, my voice threading through the tension. “What do they really want?”
“Lilian.” My name is a curse. A plea. A threat.
“Just tell me?—”
His mouth crashes down on mine, brutal and unrelenting.
The kiss tastes like punishment, like control slipping through fingers too bloodied to hold anything steady. When he finally breaks the kiss I’m gasping for air, my heart pounding like I’ve been dropped from a great height.
“Pack. Your. Things.”
This time, I don’t respond. I turn and gather my clothes with shaky hands, but my eyes keep flicking back to him—to the way his fingers tremble, to the tight pull of his shoulders. He’s unraveling, and I’m the reason.
“Is Aries alive?” I ask, shoving clothes into a bag without care. “If we’re going to be roommates, I think I deserve to know.”
His jaw ticks. “You know he is.”
“Do I?” I walk into the bathroom, sensing him behind me, his presence like a second skin. “Haven’t seen him in a week.”
“He’s fine.” His reflection joins mine in the mirror. “Better than you’ll be if you don’t quit pushing me.”
I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Stop with the damn threats, Arson. You already know I’m not scared of you.”
His hand shoots out, gripping the back of my neck—firm, unyielding. Not pain. Not comfort. A quiet assertion of power.
“Not yet, but once you know the truth, once you hear all the terrible dark things, you will be. You aren’t ready to hear my story yet. Finish packing,” he finally says, releasing me abruptly. “You’ve got five minutes before I carry you out of here, ready or not.”
The threat should continue to frighten me. Instead, it makes me want to disobey, makes me want to tempt the beast, just to see what happens.
Maybe I’m more broken than I thought.
“You know what I think?” I stand, fix my pants, and deliberately brush against him as I reach for my charger. “I think you like that I ask questions. You like that I’m not afraid of you.”
His hand catches my wrist, squeezing. “I think you’re lying to yourself that you like the illusion of darkness, but you aren’t ready to give yourself over to it fully.”
I step closer instead of pulling away. “That’s not true. I just want you to stop treating me like I will break if you tell me something that I don’t want to hear or like.”
“You will break.” He yanks me against his chest. “That’s a promise, not a threat.”
The violence in his touch is undercut by how his thumb strokes my pulse point, how his body responds to my proximity. I use it to my advantage.
“Try me.” I push back against him, making him groan. “Show me the worst of what they made you.”
His grip tightens painfully on my wrists. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me.” I turn my head enough to see his face. “Unless you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he snarls, biting my lower lip hard enough to sting. “Least of all breaking you.”
His kiss is punishing, all teeth and tongue and barely controlled violence. I match his aggression, biting back, pulling his hair, making him growl. When he pulls back, his eyes are black with desire and rage.
“Time to go.” He releases me. “Now.”
All I can do is shake my head. I’m so confused, and turned on by his darkness.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, shoving the last of my clothes into the bag. “I don’t need a babysitter. Or a jailer.”
“No?” Arson zips the bag with more force than necessary. “Tell that to the men who just proved they can grab you anywhere, anytime.”
“I can take care of myself.”
His laugh is sharp enough to cut. “Right. Like you took care of yourself breaking into my warehouse? Following me around campus? Pushing every button I have?”
“That’s different?—”
“No.” He crowds me against my desk, one hand gripping my chin. “That’s exactly the problem. You think you’re clever, think you can handle the danger. Just like you think you can handle me.”
I meet his stare defiantly. “I am handling you.”
Something shifts in his expression.
“Fuck this,” he growls.
Before I can react, he grabs my bag with one hand and throws me over his shoulder with the other.
“Arson!” I pound his back ineffectively. “Put me down!”
“Done playing games.” He strides toward the door. “Done letting you think you have any control here.”
“Someone will see?—”
“Let them.” His hand comes down hard on my ass, making me yelp. “Let them all see what happens when you push me too far.” I should be terrified. Should be fighting harder. Instead, heat pools between my thighs as he carries me out of the dorm like a caveman claiming his prize. Maybe this is exactly where I wanted to end up all along.
“This is kidnapping,” I say as he carries me down the stairs, but there’s no real fight in my voice.
“No.” His grip tightens possessively. “This is protection. This is keeping you alive. This is?—”
“This is you needing control,” I finish for him, watching upside down as other students scatter from our path.
He stops abruptly, setting me on my feet but keeping me pinned against the wall. His eyes search my face, looking for something.
“You want this,” he accuses softly. “Want to be taken, controlled, caged. Want an excuse to let the darkness out.”
The truth of it hits hard. I do want this. Want him. Want the freedom that comes with captivity, the release of giving up control to someone as beautifully broken as I am.
“Maybe.” I reach up to touch his face, trace the scar along his jaw. “Or maybe I just want to watch you try to cage something that’s already free.”
His pupils dilate at the challenge. “Last chance to run/ Walk away now, and I’ll handle them another way.”
We both know I won’t, that I can’t. That deep down I don’t want to.
“Take me to your warehouse, Arson.” I press closer, feeling his heart race against my palm. “Lock me in your cage. Keep me safe.”
His kiss is bruising, claiming a preview of the possession to come.
When he pulls back, his smile is all predator.
“Remember you chose this,” he says, throwing me back over his shoulder.
As he carries me to the car, I catch our reflection in a window—the psychopath and his willing victim. Except I’m not a victim, am I? I’m choosing my cage, choosing my captor, choosing to fall into darkness with someone who knows exactly how dark I can be.
The Hayes family’s perfect daughter, willingly walking into a monster’s lair.
Mother would be horrified, and that makes it even better.