Chapter Twenty-Two #5
He completely ignores my request, as if I never said it, and instead, without warning, his tongue dives into my mouth with a heat that steals my breath away. The heat blends with my terror in a kiss that is equal parts passion and desperation, and for a moment, I’m stuck in it.
I don’t want to kiss him back. I don’t want to give in to the pull of him. But my body betrays me, my lips moving against his as if they have a mind of their own. I feel the familiar rush of adrenaline, the desire coursing through me, and it scares me, like I’m not in control of my actions.
Petra, you are smarter than this. Stronger than this.
I press my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me with all the strength I can muster.
As soon as I break contact, he pulls back with a deliberate slowness that feels calculated.
He takes a step back, creating a physical gap between us that mirrors the emotional one I’m desperately trying to put in place.
For a split second, as our eyes meet, I see something in his gaze that I haven’t seen today—a flash of vulnerability.
It’s almost as if he doesn’t want me to leave. He’s hoping I’ll change my mind, hoping I’ll stay.
But I won’t. I can’t.
He’s fucking insane.
I don’t waste a single second. The moment that gap opens, I move.
I push off the wall, my pulse sprinting frantically as I rush toward the bedroom door.
My hand flies out to grab my phone from the floor, and I snatch it up without pausing.
I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, but I refuse to look back.
I don’t want to see what’s in his eyes. I don’t want to know if he’s about to stop me.
I pocket my phone and grab my laptop from the table; my fingers grip it tightly as I head straight for the front door, swiping up my suitcase as I walk.
My entire body is trembling, every muscle tense as I reach for the knob, praying that he won’t stop me.
I pull the door open with a burst of adrenaline and step outside, the rain hitting me like a wake-up call.
I don’t look behind me, not even for a second.
I toss the suitcase and the laptop into the back seat of my car with shaking hands.
The panic is still fresh, still raw, but I’m moving on autopilot now.
I throw myself into the driver’s seat and slam the door shut.
As soon as I’m inside, I immediately lock all the doors.
The sound of the locks clicking into place feels like a small victory, but I’m not safe yet.
I shove the key into the ignition and turn it with trembling fingers.
The engine roars to life, and I waste no time. I throw the car into reverse, my foot pressing hard on the gas pedal. Only then do I dare look up, my heart beating away in my chest like a drum.
Saint is standing in the doorway of the cabin, leaning casually against the frame.
His eyes are locked on mine, watching me leave with a look I can’t quite decipher.
There’s no anger in his expression, no rage.
Just something calm, almost resigned. His posture is relaxed, his arms crossed over his chest, as if he’s content to just stand there and watch.
But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s letting me go too easily, that there’s something I’m missing.
I keep my eyes on him as I back down the driveway, my heart racing in my chest. I want to make sure he’s not coming after me, that this isn’t some sick game where he chases me down.
Right before I turn the wheel to get back onto the road, he lifts a hand and waves, the gesture so nonchalant, so normal for such a terrifying moment. It’s as if our parting is just a casual goodbye, like two old friends, and I’m not fleeing, not running for my life with fear clogging my lungs.
My foot slams down on the gas pedal. The tires churn against the gravel, and I take off, speeding away from that cabin as fast as I can, my pulse hammering in my throat. The farther I drive, the harder the tears fall.
Every foot of space I put between my car and Saint releases more of the fear, more of the panic, until I’m choking on the sobs that have been trapped in my chest. I cry, hard, for miles.
I can’t wrap my mind around what just happened. How did I let it get this far?
I think about Shephard. About my girls. Their faces flash in my mind, and a fresh wave of guilt crashes over me.
How could I have been so selfish? How could I have put them in danger like this?
The thought makes my stomach turn. What if he decides to come after them?
What if my actions have made them targets in whatever twisted game Saint is playing?
I’m not even sure they’re safe from him, or that I’m safe from him, but he’s not following me, and I cling to that fact.
I can only hope that his sick fantasy has played itself out, that he’s satisfied with whatever he got from me and that he won’t take it any further in the future.
But that hope feels fragile, like something I’m clinging to out of sheer desperation.
I scream, startled, when a piercing, shrieking sound tears me out of my thoughts. My whole body jolts. For a split second, I think it’s him—that somehow, he’s found a way to follow me, to catch up to me. But then I realize it’s just my phone.
It’s just my phone.
I blow out an unsteady breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
My hand trembles as I glance over at the passenger seat, where the phone is buzzing violently.
Shephard’s name flashes across the screen, and a fresh wave of tears stings my eyes.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have done something so terrible to a man who has been nothing but good to me?
I grab the phone, wiping at my eyes with the back of my other hand. I answer it, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to swallow the emotion that’s threatening to break through. “Hey,” I say, but my voice cracks, caught somewhere between a whisper and a scream.
“You okay?” Shephard asks, his voice filled with concern. The tenderness in his tone cuts through me like a knife, making it that much harder to keep it together.
I take a deep breath, forcing down the sob that’s building in my throat.
“Yes. Yeah.” My voice sounds brittle, like it could shatter at any moment.
“I just—I’m not feeling well, so I’m on my way home early.
” The lie slips out so easily, but it feels like a betrayal.
Another layer of deception to pile onto everything else I’ve done.
“Oh. Okay.” There’s a slight pause, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice, but it’s masked by his concern for me. “I’ll tell the girls. They’ll be happy, but I’m sorry you’re sick. Want me to make you some soup?”
Another tear spills down my cheek when he says that.
How could I have done something so terrible to a man like him?
A man who is willing to drop everything just to make me soup when I’m “sick.” I don’t deserve his kindness.
I don’t deserve him. I suddenly crave the boring.
I want complacency. I’ll happily take the mundane over whatever this shit is I’m living through right now.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Soup would be nice. I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”
“Be careful,” he says, his tone gentle, filled with love and concern.
“I will.” I take a shaky breath, wiping at my tears again. “I love you, Shephard.”
“I love you too,” he replies softly, and it’s like a punch to the gut.
I hang up the phone, but the tears don’t cease.
When I come to a stop sign, I glance around, making sure there are no cars behind me.
The road is empty. The world outside is quiet, peaceful, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I unlock my phone screen.
My fingers move quickly as I pull up Saint’s contact.
Without hesitation, I block his number.
I let out a long, shaky breath, staring at the screen.
It feels like a small act of defiance, a tiny step toward reclaiming control of my life.
But it’s not enough. Blocking his number doesn’t erase what happened, doesn’t erase the fear that he could show up again.
I can only hope that cutting him off like this will be the end of him. It has to be.
I pray that whatever this was, whatever game he was playing, it’s over now.
I’ve always known to be afraid of the obvious things like lions and bears, because those are things that present as dangerous. What I’m just now realizing is that I should have been more afraid of the things that have the capability of pretending they’re not dangerous.
Please, let him be finished with me.