Chapter 30 BETH #2
I wanted to do something bad to him. I wanted to make him howl in agony. But compared to his strength, my hit was paper…laughable. He would swat me away like a pesky fly.
“Why would you do that?” I couldn’t believe it. I had come here about to rain fire and brimstone, but every ounce of courage evaporated the moment I reached him.
Why was I so scared of him? Why do I turn to this weak, defenseless thing in front of him?
“You didn’t have the right to do–” I couldn’t even finish my words. Because in a split second, a cold hand wrapped around my throat, thumb pressing against my windpipe.
What was his deal with my throat? Every little thing, his hands were there.
I was weightless, floating like a leaf in a storm as he dragged me across the room.
My back slammed into something hard, the impact rattling through my bones. But even that pain was nothing compared to the look in his eyes. Dark, deadly, a haunting void that trapped me in place.
He said nothing. He didn’t have to. The rapid rise and fall in his chest, the panting breath that ghosted over my skin, the tight sneer that pulled at his lips, said it all. Everything about him breathed violence.
He was going to finally kill me today. Well, I was nineteen. Most people died during birth. I had lived a long life…not exactly the kind I would have wanted, but I had lived, at least.
“S-stop,” I choked out, hands clawing at his grip, gasping as my lungs began to burn, my vision flickering at the edges. Pressure built in my skull, my heartbeat thudding in my ears like a knell.
“P-please.” Dots began to gather around my lenses, but I still summoned every atom of strength in me to beg, pride and arrogance tossed off the window.
Actually, I didn’t want to die. Not today. If I was dying, I must see Kenzo one more time.
“Who is he?” Finally, he demanded in a low growl.
I shook my head in reply, probably not what he was expecting to hear. So his finger flexed around my throat as if giving me a chance, or maybe a warning to remember my life was pulsing beneath the weight of his fingers, and my answer determined if I lived or died.
“Answer me!” he roared, the sound rumbling through me like a strike of thunder, raw and unforgiving.
“No-nobody.” I forced the words out of my constricted throat. The act of speaking was agony, my voice strangled. “He–”
Before I could finish, his hand vanished. I collapsed, doubling over, hacking and gasping, my lungs dragging in air like they might never get enough. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unbidden.
I heard the cacophony of his footsteps echo away, but not too far.
When I lifted my head to catch his shadow at least, he was by the bar again, grabbing another wine glass.
With his fingers twitching, a vein at the side of his neck flexing, he poured himself another glass of whiskey, angrily downing the content.
When the glass was empty, he slammed it on the counter and leaned over it, his shoulders rising and falling.
The minutes of pure silence were an echo of suspense as if there was a time bomb somewhere in the corner waiting to explode.
After what felt like hours, he leaned off the table, and I, in turn, pressed my body instantly against the wall, as if it would suddenly grow a pair of strong arms to protect me.
He craned his neck slowly, and when his predatory and hungry-looking eyes fell on me, the first and only thought was to bolt for the door.
But instead of charging at me and finishing what he started, he grabbed the wine glass again and poured enough whiskey into it. When he turned around to face me, my pulse jumped, every instinct screaming at me to run.
“Get out.”
The command was quiet, yet it shook through me like an earthquake.
My brows furrowed. He was setting me free? Just like that?
I looked around me cautiously. This could very well be a trap. Trusting this man was a death sentence.
But before I could even take a step to honor his generosity, the soldier that had been standing like a statue at the corner of the room all along, moved. He stepped out through the sliding glass door, disappearing.
My brows furrowed, eyes bouncing between the space the soldier disappeared through and the man whose dark gaze was still pinned on me.
“Take off your clothes.” The words hit me like a gunshot, devoid of hesitation. It was a kind of command that left no room for small talks, the tone he used for his soldiers.
“Take off your fucking clothes, Elizabeth!” I tried not to ignore the shiver that ran down my spine when he called me Elizabeth like that.
Callan called me like a secret, a promise he didn’t want to break.
And him, he called me like my name was a weapon, a hunger, an oath etched into stone and marked with blood.
“I-” I shook my head warily. “I don’t want to.”
I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t want him to have me. I didn’t want more of that darkness inside me.
I didn’t want to call his name. I belonged to Callan. I only wanted Callan’s name.
“It wasn’t a request,” he said simply.
“I don’t–”
“-Now!” The word hit me like a physical blow. My eyes began to burn, a knot forming in my throat. My fingers trembled as they reached for the button on my shirt, each pop of the said button sending my heart into a frantic, erratic rhythm.
Why was he doing this to me?
Why did I surrender again so quickly?
If I just fought harder, stood my ground, would he let me win this? Would he let me go?
“Don’t waste my time.” His voice was like steel, lining my skin, marking out which part to sink its edges into.
I didn’t want this.
I didn’t want him.
But why was my body tingling?
Why was my face hot?
Why was my blood rushing through my veins in dizzying waves?