11. Eleven #2
“Sara, look at me. None of us have that much power in changing someone’s fate,” she says it in an imploring way, so I'd let go of this burden. “He has no right to put this on you. Fight him back! You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
I nod, though my throat burns. Deep inside, I know I can’t blame myself for Joe’s death, but I wish it were that simple. It’s difficult to be plagued by so much death and heartache around me.
It makes others uncomfortable when they look into my eyes and see a pit of darkness they want to remedy, as if grief is a disease. Something to be fixed. But this is different, and Mimi is right; I can’t just let him treat me like this. Overcoming my pain is hard enough.
She watches me with understanding and hands me boxes to fill, mercifully ending the conversation.
After two hours of serving the village elite, I push open the door for my break to head outside. Empty nesters trying on the latest fashion made my head spin. I rarely work, but it’s nice to keep my mind occupied. I need it, especially after this morning’s fiasco with Liam’s puppy.
The memory of his chest crushing down on mine is vivid, and my heart races at the thought of his wicked eyes.
They haunt me in places torn between undeniable fear and something else I can't quite grasp.
Is it a fascination with danger? Or is it he's the only remnant I have of Joe, a reminder that Joe was once real?
He's anything but safe. He’s a concussion waiting to happen in every way.
Eyes on the ground, losing my compass to the uneven cobblestones rooting me to maintain balance in my village, my home, I walk smack into a wall. No — harder. A chest. Solid and unyielding.
The concussion I was just thinking about — Liam.
No fucking way.
He was in the middle of saying hi to someone, low voice curling around his welcoming voice that would never be directed at me, when I look up.
“Well, well… what do we have here?” His mouth curves, knowing the answer.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean to run into you. Definitely not you.”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You’re not happy to see me? You can at least pretend. That’s the least you owe me.”
“I never would have pegged you for one to tolerate pretense. I’ll spare you.” I shift around him to leave, but his arm halts me.
“I definitely can’t tolerate you very much, so I guess you’re onto something.” He smiles almost genuinely, and I realize I’ve never seen him smile. It’s a smile that screams, “I’d taste your blood if I could.”
Shit.
“Don’t worry,” I say dryly, “lucky for you, my toaster and I have a date in the bath later.”
“Can I plug it in for you?” He laughs morbidly.
“Or maybe you should join me. Take us both out of this misery.”
“Is that an invitation, Sara?” He questions with venom, moving closer.
God no, I don’t want him near me. I step back.
“Not quite an invitation if it takes your last breath... Maybe more like a suicide party.” I chuckle sarcastically.
“Don’t you think you’ve already made enough of a mess by taking my brother’s last breath?”
The words slice through me, a clean, cruel cut and I can feel my eyes sting. My pulse pounding in my chest, I swear he can hear it. An overwhelming urge to scream, to plead for him to stop and leave me alone, claws at my throat and tangles with something darker.
“Something is seriously wrong with you.” My voice is heavy with accusation, but he doesn’t flinch.
I feel weak and ensnared by his person as he motions closer with each step back I take.
Until my ankle twists painfully on a jagged cobblestone, sending a shock through me, causing me to stumble, and before I can catch myself, his strong tattooed arm snakes around my waist.
Effortless for him, dreadful for me. His eyes darken, a violent storm looking into me, intending to swallow me whole, but there is so little left of me.
“And who killed him, Sara?” His question is a knife I don’t know how to block.
He’s too close. His breath brushes my cheek, and I can count every thick lash framing those frozen blue eyes.
He is mercilessly beautiful. Sharp cheekbones catching light like the edge of a blade, a mouth sculpted for sin but pressed into a line of restraint, a face you’d want to memorize right before it ruins you.
My voice wavers, but it doesn’t break. “If you’re trying to find guilt in my eyes, it’s not there. I won’t let you.”
“I can see that. I'm going to change what I see in your eyes.” His reply is a growl, fingers tightening into my side until a small sound of pain escapes me.
“What are you going to do to me, Liam?” The words leave me before I can stop them, hushed under the shadow of his six-foot-four frame.
His hand slides into my ponytail, wrapping the strands around his fist, and tugs my head back until my chin tilts toward him. The pull is sharp enough to make me gasp. His lips hover near my ear.
“Own you.” He grunts, and it detonates something shameful inside me, something similar to a spark that feels dangerously close to pleasure.
He tsk’s under his breath, then releases me with a shove of disgust that makes me stumble back.
“At least pretend you miss him.” He snaps.
“You have no fucking idea how I feel about anything. Now get out of my way.”
He steps aside, with a mocking little bow. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Be my guest.”
I brush past him, but the heat of his presence clings to me, static on my skin. I hate him. God help me, I hate him with a passion.
The street is quieter than it should be for early evening.
Shops are closing down one by one as I’m shutting the store Soleil after Mimi left before me.
I was happy to stay in the store; irrational at best, but it’s something.
I’ve always known the village is small, tiny even, but it’s downright close to suffocating when it’s as easy as it is to walk into a wolf’s jaw.
They say curiosity killed the cat, but no one warned me about the wolves.
My boots click against the narrow cobblestones, the sound sharp enough to make me hyperaware of each step. Somewhere behind me, there’s another rhythm, it's offbeat, uneven. I convince myself it’s just someone else heading home, but the air turns tight in my lungs, and something doesn’t feel right.
I pass the post office, which is resting in the center of a roundabout surrounded by stores and the VIP Room club. It’s dark, everything’s shut down. I can see my surroundings easily, but a crawling sensation comes over me. The feeling of being watched.
I pause, looking around, breathing slowly, feeling like open prey.
Anticipation is now boiling anxiety in the pit of my stomach, and I spot a reflection in the glass, too tall to be mine, too still to be coincidence, igniting nothing else but the sensation of something dangerous. My heart flips and I whip around.
Nothing.
Just the empty curve of the street and a parked car.
I keep walking. Faster. My pulse has found my throat now, a steady pounding.
The sound comes again, closer this time.
“Get a grip,” I say under my breath.
By the time I reach the turn toward my street, the feeling spikes even more. Every hair on my arms lifts, and I glance sideways, pretending to adjust my bag, and for the smallest second, I finally catch it.
A shape at the bottom of the street, not moving and just watching… Me?
The streetlight above flickers once and dies, leaving enough shadow for him to disappear when I blink.
My legs lock into a fast walk until I see my house’s gate.
I shove it open and run inside and lock the door behind me.
I lean against it, my breath shaky. My phone is in my hand before I realize it, my thumb hovering over a name I shouldn’t call. Tyler.
I don’t press it, but I’m so close to finding refuge in him.