Chapter 12 – Sydney
SYDNEY
“You’re not going to believe this,” Jade says with a laugh, sliding the cash register drawer closed, “but that guy over there just paid with a hundred-dollar bill.”
“Did you check it?” I ask. It’s rare, but counterfeit currency does sometimes filter into our store. Paying for a small item with a big bill is usually a red flag for any small business.
“Yeah,” she says. “Tested it with the pen and everything. It’s real. But that’s not even the crazy thing, Syd. He told me to keep the change. On a twelve-dollar purchase!”
“He must have been charmed by you,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes, chuckling. “Listen, I’ll be in the back checking inventory for the next few hours, okay? Will you be all right up here on your own?”
“Oh, please. I’ll be fine,” she assures me, waving me away. “Go. Do your stock, or whatever.”
“Call me if you need anything!”
Jade gives me a salute, and I laugh, shaking my head at her as I make my way to the back of the store.
The truth is I’ve been actively avoiding going through our inventory, but I can’t put it off any longer.
I used to love sorting through our new stock and setting things out, planning exactly where everything should go to create the best, most authentic, atmosphere.
Used to love placing orders, picking out what newest books we should carry.
I liked that it was a task that gave me room to think, to lose myself in my own mind.
But…
Last night proved where my mind will wander if left to its own devices.
The memories, the lust, the sex.
But those never stick. Those thoughts always give way to their violence, their lies, their anger.
But are you any different?
Yes, I tell myself, taking new inventory from a box and slamming it down against the stockroom table a little too hard. I don’t look at the spot where Sebastian knelt to lick me, at where I’d sat on the edge of the table and let him ravage me.
I am different.
I’m not a violent person. Not anymore. I changed. I’m better now, all those dark thoughts, those angry urges, they’re gone. Now I like reality TV where the contestants bake things, I like cookies straight from the oven, and books…
Books about rough sex, that voice inside me says.
Books about violence, it whispers, insidiously creeping into my mind. About women who kill for the ones they love, without regret. About strong, angry men, who don’t stop when they’re asked, who take what they want and—
I slam a book against the table, chest rising and falling quickly. Then, for good measure, I lift it up and slam it back down again and again. I’m inexplicably angry, furious with myself, with them…
It takes much more than counting to ten to calm me down this time. It takes almost twenty minutes of deep breathing and quiet, happy thoughts before I feel sane again.
I take all those dark, dirty thoughts. I take the memories of Sebastian, the memories of Ashton holding that riding crop, the memories of me—violent, hateful memories—and I put them aside. I’m not ready to confront all of that.
It takes most of the morning for me to sort through the new stock, taking frequent breaks to ball up those rising feelings and shove them down again. It’s not until almost eleven when my stomach starts to loudly protest how little I’ve eaten that I take a break.
It’s unnerving how hungry being angry can make you.
Time to grab something delicious from Jade’s pastry case to tide me over for the next few hours. I think I’ll treat myself to something especially decadent today. A little treat, maybe a croque monsieur. Yes, that would hit the spot.
Satisfied with my choice, I close the stock door behind me and stroll through literary fiction, heading toward the front and—
I freeze, heart pounding in my chest when I see him.
Viper.
No. No, no, no.
He’s standing between me and the end of the bookshelf, blocking my way, an easy, terrifying smile on his face.
He’s even scarier than I remember. I’d been so surprised, so panicked in the alley, I’d never really given him my full attention.
Now, I can’t pull my eyes away from him.
He’s beautiful, Ashton’s deadlier counterpart.
There’s no fooling myself that Viper’s muscles are for anything other than inflicting pain.
His arms are covered in scars, some unfathomably deep, forming chasms in his flesh, and some that are shiny like burns.
A huge scar mars his otherwise perfect face, slashing through his eyebrow and curving over his cheek.
He’s insane.
That’s the only thing I can think as I meet those dark, manic eyes. There’s no kindness there, no humanity. Viper’s eyes are a pit full of shadows.
And, as he stares at me, they’re also full of lust.
“Hello, little rabbit.” He grins, and there’s nothing kind about it. “I’ve been waiting for you to come out of your hole.”
I run.
It’s purely instinctual, and I take off without giving it a second’s thought.
I turn and run as fast as my legs will carry me, away from him, my thoughts a blur.
I need to hide. I need to get somewhere safe.
The stockroom door has a lock, and even though it hadn’t been enough to keep Sebastian out, maybe it will work on him. Maybe I can get there, maybe I can—
Viper crashes into me from behind, lifting me off the ground as he wraps his massive arms around my body. I try to scream, but his hand clamps over my mouth and nose, squeezing my face so hard it hurts.
He’s laughing.
His body shakes with the force of it, his chest shaking as he holds me. He crushes my body against him, my back flattened against his chest, and I can feel his body convulse with the force of his laughter.
“Oh, little rabbit, little rabbit,” he purrs into my ear. “You can’t run from me. Not ever.”
His breath is warm against my skin. With one last laugh, he closes his teeth around the shell of my ear, biting hard. I squeal in pain, the sound embarrassingly high-pitched and frightened.
I can’t breathe. His hand is too tight around my face, suffocating me. I panic, struggling against him, kicking my legs, but he’s too big, too strong. I could thrash with all my strength and still not move him an inch.
“If you scream, I’ll take your tongue,” Viper whispers in my ear. I whimper, my body going stiff. He means it. I know he does. “Do you understand?”
I try to calm myself, try to count to ten, try to think happy thoughts.
In the end, all I can do is nod against his hand, lungs burning for air and my heart pounding in my chest so hard it hurts.
“Good.” Viper chuckles.
And he lets me go.
I stumble, gasping for breath, momentarily stunned by the sudden absence of him. Quickly, I spin around to face him. But Viper just stands there, smiling, head cocked to the side as though watching to see what I’ll do.
Like I’m a toy he’s playing with. Like I’m not even a person.
Suddenly, all that fear turns into hot rage. All the times I felt powerless, all the times I felt I needed to behave. All of that comes rushing back to me. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve slapped him across the face, hard.
His head snaps to the side at the force, but the smile never leaves his lips. If anything, he looks even more amused, his tongue snaking out to run over teeth.
Shit.
Clearly, I can’t fight him. That much is obvious.
Hesitant, I take a step back, away from him.
He steps forward. Just enough, like he’s keeping me close.
Okay.
I let myself go still, forcing my too-tense muscles to relax, trying to calm my breathing.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask. My voice sounds low and monotone in my ears. Not terrified, the way I would have expected.
Viper tilts his head a little more, dark eyes sparkling.
“Do you want me to hurt you?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
I don’t react immediately. Stunned, I just stand there, letting the words rattle around my skull. Then, I shake my head, just barely, from side to side.
“Pity,” he says, lip curling just a little, showing his teeth. “I want to hurt you, little rabbit. You’d like the things I could do to you.”
I shake my head again, more forcefully this time.
No. I wouldn’t. I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t like being hurt. That’s not me. That’s not who I am.
The way Viper looks at me makes me feel like a liar.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Viper’s grin is feral.
“Someone needs to watch over you,” he coos in a sing-song voice. “Keep away all the big bad wolves.”
“You’re here to…protect me?” I interpret, not believing the words as they fall from my lips.
But he nods, eagerly. He steps forward, again, ignoring the way my body tenses and flinches away from him, ready to run again. He reaches up and touches a lock of my hair, curling it around his finger.
“Only we get to hurt you,” he promises me, like it’s meant to be comforting. “No one else. Only we get to watch you bleed.”
I gulp.
Slowly, he slides his fingers from my hair and over my cheek, his touch gliding over my skin and down to my neck.
“So soft,” he whispers, almost reverently.
Voice a little weak, I whisper, “Don’t touch me.”
The change is instant.
Viper’s hand freezes. His eyes jump to mine, eyes so, so cold and angry.
I gasp as his fingers wrap painfully around my jaw, twisting my face up.
“We own you, little rabbit,” he snaps. I whimper, his hand squeezing so tight his nails are digging into my flesh. “If I want to touch you, I will fucking touch you.”
He jerks my head back even more, looming over me.
“If I want to cut you and play in your blood, I fucking will. Do you understand?”
I nod, head barely moving in his grip.
“Open your mouth,” he orders.
I obey without thought, jaw dropping open.
I watch in horror as Viper leans down over me, lining up his face to mine, and spits into my open mouth.
The sound that escapes me is undeniably sexual.
“Mine,” Viper growls, digging his fingers into my jaw as I swallow.
“Yes,” I gasp.
He watches me for a few long seconds, eyes impossibly dark, before nodding.
“Good,” he tells me, letting go and stepping back.
I stumble, nearly falling, at the loss of him.
And just like that, the rage is gone, replaced with manic insanity.
“I’m inside you now, little rabbit,” Viper says, tapping a finger against my lips. “Can you feel it?”
I can’t speak. Can’t even nod.
Then he’s gone, walking back through the shop toward the café, trailing his fingertips over the spines of books and humming as he goes.
And I’m broken. Irrevocably broken.
Because there’s no possible justification for why I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my entire life. No excuse for the fact that I want, desperately, for him to turn back around and come back to me.