49. Olivia #2
Physically, I could probably knock him down and make a run for it out the front door, but my cover seems to be completely blown. Not that I could get my limbs to move, anyway. I’m stuck in his grasp, gasping for air, and mentally begging him to get away from me.
“It still haunts you, doesn’t it?” Malic asks softly.
“Malic, would you let the girl go? She’s not whoever you think she is,” Wilder grunts, attempting to slap Malic’s hold off me, but it doesn’t work. Malic holds me tighter, focusing only on me. “Malic,” he grunts, grabbing Malic’s wrist and holding tight. “You need to get a grip. She’s not—”
“She is Olivia Viotto,” Malic grits out. “I know she is. I also know she’s been pretending to be Oliver fucking Davenport since the moment she walked onto campus.”
I suck in several breaths as his fingers caress my cheeks softly despite the roughness in his voice.
“You’re fucking delusional, Mal. You need to stop this and get the fuck out of your head.”
“Why, Olivia? Why the fuck are you here now?” he begs.
“Tell me, Crumpet. Tell me so I can help you bring down the bastards who thought they could kill you. Was it them? Those three fuckwits? I’ll hang them by their ears and rid them of their intestines.
” He grins manically at the thought of torturing the three boys I swore tried to kill me.
“Tell me who tried to end your life and is too stupid to realize you’re alive. ”
I want to cover my ears. I want to run away.
I want to be a bad agent, fall on the floor, and curl up in a ball.
Everything about this town is too fucking much for me to handle.
I knew it from the beginning. I knew when Jonathan crossed the boundary of Greenwood, California, that something bad was on the horizon. I felt it deep in my bones.
Now, Malic, the goddamn psychopath, knows who I am, but not why I’m here.
Not exactly. I’m better than this. Tougher than this.
Fuck. Why can’t I get my instincts to work with me?
Why do I feel so weak in the face of danger?
Especially here in this town. It’s like it’s dragging out every logical thought and feeling with incompetence.
Shit. I knew I should have crawled out the window upstairs and avoided all this.
“Olivia Viotto died, Mal,” Wilder coos, forcing Malic’s crazed gaze to his. “You know that, right? She died. Even though I hate the bastard, she was good to my brother.” He raises his brows, trying to force Malic to understand.
“Well, then, inform him that she’s, in fact, not deceased.
Olivia Viotto is alive and breathing, and she’s right here.
In fact, she’s been under our noses this entire time.
I knew you the moment we met at the bar.
” Malic’s face softens again. “I knew exactly who you were the second my eyes found yours.” A slight smile curves his lips as my ears fill with static.
How, though?
Malic acts as if he truly knows me. Or knew me as Olivia before she was betrayed and nearly died. But nothing registers in my mind as it fills with images of the past. Images of my father and the abuse I went through. The night of the fire and the grudge I’ve been holding since I recovered.
“Trauma recognizes trauma, Little Ghost. We are one and the same. In time, you’ll see.” He cuts through the static filling my brain, and my gaze locks on him.
My rage boils more and more. One and the same?
He wasn’t in that shitty house. Under my father’s thumb.
He didn’t have to live through my father’s torture.
The beatings. The starvation. Watching my little sister cower in fear as my father drank himself to death and took it out on us every chance he got.
Maybe he was abused by his own family, which is awful.
But two children raised in two different circumstances are not the same.
“We are not the fucking same,” I hiss, shoving my knee directly into his dick and letting it linger as he folds over, losing his breath. “Not the fucking same at all!” I shout, pushing him back until his ass lands on the ground, and he’s staring up at me with wide eyes.
He covers his dick with his hands, wheezing several times. “Fuck!” Malic gasps out, curling in on himself. “You kneed me in the dick,” he wheezes out, turning red. “I thought you liked him,” he whines, rocking back and forth. “Now he’s hurt. Kiss him and make him better!” He howls.
I’d feel bad. But right now? I’m a cornered fucking animal desperate to get out of this house unscathed and my dignity intact. I’m tired of getting blackmailed into revealing my identity.
“I want my shit,” I say to Wilder, lifting my chin and stepping around Malic, still writhing on the floor and whining about his dick.
“I want my phone. My clothes. Everything.” I have no idea why I’m not running from the psychopath who tried to out my true identity, but I’m determined to get my stuff back.
It’s the principle of it all. I fell asleep, and he took my things.
Much like my damn badge and glasses. In fact, I grab them off the kitchen island and grip them tightly. These are mine. No one else’s.
“Even if you kick my dick, Little Ghost,” he wheezes with red cheeks.
“I’ll never hate you. Ever. You could even stab me if you wanted.
” He physically brightens at the idea of me stabbing him, and I recoil.
“Shoot me. Tie me to a chair. In fact, that sounds wonderful.” He gives a dreamy grin as he rocks in pain.
Weirdo.
“Jesus,” Wilder groans, stepping in front of me with a scowl, looking between Malic and me.
I try to push past him, but he grabs me and holds my back against his front, wrapping his arms tightly around me.
“He may drive me fucking insane…” He trails off in my ear as I try to kick his knees out with my heels and successfully get one. He cringes and yelps loudly. “But fuck! Would you stop? Jesus Christ! Malic!” he shouts.
“Crumpet,” Malic says in a low voice, stopping my movements as he stands before me, staring deep into my eyes. A grin spreads across his lips. “You really do kick hard, don’t you? Is it because of this?” He gestures to the badge nestled in my hand.
I say nothing as I try to heel-stomp Wilder’s feet.
I’ll apologize later, but my fight-or-flight is kicking in, and I want to run.
But I’ll keep fighting if I have to. My only reservation is that I don’t want to injure them too badly.
Despite them holding me here and trying to ruin the lie I’ve built here for the sake of this case.
“Do something for Christ’s sake!” Wilder howls, moving with me, wrapped tightly in his arms, trying to avoid my kicks.
“Olivia,” Malic grunts, stopping my kicks by holding my legs.
“Stop. I want to talk. That’s it. I don’t want to hurt you or expose you to the world.
Your secret is safe with me. With us. Wilder also promises not to say a word.
” Something about the way he says the words seems so damn honest. Like, he really means he won’t tell the damn world that I’m still alive and back as Oliver. “Let’s talk.”
I narrow my eyes at him as I grunt, trying to break free from both their grips.
Yeah, so much for being a badass fighter who can take down a grown man with one punch.
If I had hit them both in the jaw and run, I wouldn’t be in this position, but I wanted my phone.
I thought Wilder would give me a little sympathy.
But I guess when you knee his bestie in the balls, he fights back.
Sucks to be me.
“Then talk,” I hiss through my teeth, clinging hard to my badge.
“I want your help,” he says, squishing me in between him and Wilder. I lift my chin to look directly into his softening eyes. “In fact, I need it. You may be my only hope, Crumpet.”
A familiar tingle works its way through my body at the feel of them pressing against me. Together. Fuck. I shouldn’t be the slightest bit turned on.
“What the fuck is happening right now?” Wilder grumbles, adjusting his arms around me and holding me still.
“With what?” I ask, ignoring Wilder, who huffs behind me.
“Seriously, Malic. I need you to explain this shit to me. Why are we holding this girl hostage?” Wilder grits out. “I don’t need kidnapping charges on my record.”
“You won’t get kidnapping charges, old chap. Don’t worry yourself.”
“Don’t worry yourself?” he bickers back. “That sentence coming from your mouth doesn’t fucking work.”
“I already explained this to you…”
“Would you two shut the fuck up?” I growl. “Malic, explain what you need my help with.”
Malic grins at me when he steps back slightly, taking the pressure off my legs. If I wanted to, I could kick his feet out from under him and send him to the ground. Again.
“Dude, she has a mean kick,” Wilder argues, holding tighter to me.
“You’ll be a good girl, won’t you, Olivia?” Malic practically purrs when I narrow my eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. You can remove yourself from her, Keeper. Olivia won’t fight back anymore.”
“Oh, I won’t promise that,” I say, cracking my knuckles. “You saw what I could do at the fights. I can do that to you and him.” In a goddamn heartbeat if I desired. But he’s piqued my interest in why he’s so hell-bent on keeping me here.
“But you won’t,” Malic says confidently.
Wilder stiffens behind me and then steps back. “What the hell?” he asks again with a sharp intake of breath. “You’re seriously…”
“Welcome to the club, old chap. Olivia Viotto lives and breathes. But shhh, we don’t know that.” Malic wiggles his brows. “We’re going to be very good boys and keep our mouths shut. No telling anyone on campus. This is our fun little secret. Oh, how I love having secrets,” he chuckles.
Wilder stumbles behind me, and I tilt my head when he lands in a chair, looking as white as a ghost.