9. Zela #2
“So that’s what you keep hidden, under all those big frumpy sweaters and baggy jeans.” He pushes off the wall, stalking toward me, and I can see the twisted excitement shine in his eyes.
Fuck.
I go stiff. Fighting the urge to bolt, unlike most every other room in the house, the gym has exactly one door, and right now, Jace stands directly in the way of it. I’d bet money that isn’t an accident either.
Why is he here?
How is he here? It couldn’t have been that long; my alarm hasn’t gone off yet.
My panic must be obvious despite my attempt to keep my face neutral.
“Maybe next time you should make sure we all leave before you get comfortable.” He drags his tongue along his bottom lip before biting it. “Or don’t.”
“What do I care if you’re here or not?” I say, and resist the urge to pat myself on the back when my voice comes out much stronger than I thought possible.
Regardless, he doesn’t believe me. Cocking a brow, he waves a finger around the room near the ceiling, and I don’t need to look to know what he’s gesturing at.
“You seem to care an awful lot.”
Of course, he’s right, but I have no intention of telling him that.
“No, I just don’t need any creeps watching me while I work out,” I say it like it’s not a big deal before forcing myself to turn my attention back to the bag. I hate the idea of him being at my back, but I don’t want him to know just how much he affects me.
“As if there’s anything to watch,” he snaps, but still his eyes are all but glued to my ass.
Don’t react, don’t react. I tell myself over and over. I don’t know exactly what kind of reaction he’s looking for, but I know that’s what he wants.
Why else would he be down here? I’m sure he has half a dozen other things or people he could be doing.
I continue going through the motions, unsure what else to do, unable to think of an excuse that gets me out of here but doesn’t make me look like I’m running away.
“For something so small, you sure know how to throw a punch.” Jace is much closer now; I hear it even if I refuse to turn and confirm it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my heart rate kicks up a notch.
“Not everyone grew up in a house on a hill hidden behind a gate to keep the riffraff out.” My voice drips with venom that I don’t even attempt to bite back. I should; Jace isn’t someone I want to get on the bad side of, but I can’t help it.
A sharp tug on my hair pulls me back a step, away from the bag and right into his chest.
“You think because of some gate that we didn’t have to deal with shit growing up, then you're stupider than you look,” he hisses, his mouth so close to my ear that I feel his warm breath roll across the sensitive skin.
Everything in me says I need to move, to get away from him, fight, run, something! But I stand frozen. Jace uses his hold on my hair to tug my head back even more so that I’m looking up at him as he glares down at me.
Jace is unhinged on the best of days, crazy and unpredictable, which makes him dangerous, but right now he’s more than that.
Right now, Jace is a monster. I can see it in his eyes. I don’t know what made him like that, but I don’t really want to stand around and ask for his backstory right now, or ever.
Monsters aren’t born; they're made. I really do believe that, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous or me any less at his mercy.
He holds my gaze as he leans in, pressing his nose to my hair and taking a deep breath, his lids drooping as his eyes roll back in his head for a moment.
Alarm bells go off in my head as I feel his growing hardness press against my ass.
I don’t give myself time to think; I just move.
Spinning around, I don’t even feel the hair that stays tangled in his fingers as I pull away. I hold my breath as I look up at him and find a smile on his face. That’s fine. I intend to handle that for him.
I don’t have a lot of room to move, but I still throw all my weight into my fist and can’t stop the smile that pulls at my lips when I feel it make contact with his smug face.
His head snaps to the side, his hand moving up to hold his jaw before he works it back and forth a few times, and I damn near giggle when I see the line of blood that drips down from his lip.
Serves him right; maybe now he’ll keep his hands and dick to himself.
I half expect him to hit me back, but instead, he finds a way to catch me even more off guard.
He makes a show of licking at the blood running down his chin. The smile pulls at the cut, making it bleed more, which he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He wipes his chin free of anything he can’t get with his tongue before he throws his head back and barks a laugh.
“So much more feisty than I thought!” He sounds excited as he moves toward me, attempting to herd me into the corner, but there isn’t much I can do about it.
Except run.
“It’s not often someone throws a decent punch on the bag and for real. The skills to aim at a moving target are different, so tell me, little sister, who have you been getting into fights with?” His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his breathing is erratic.