I turn to face her with the most serious face I can muster right now because I’m close to killing her off and ending this charade. At least then she’ll shut up for a second.
“You should be thankful,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Thankful?” she repeats, almost choking on her laughter. “Why? For threatening me with a gun?”
“For saving your ass,” I growl back.
Now she bursts out into laughter. Visibly. Shaking. Like she can’t catch her breath.
I make a fist with my hands. Fuck her and her ungrateful ass.
“Sorry, I just can’t,” she says, wiping away a tear. “It’s just too funny.”
I march toward her, grab her by the hair, and yank her head back. “If it wasn’t for me, my uncle would be ripping out your toenails right about now,” I hiss.
It’s the truth. He’d probably skin her alive too. She doesn’t know him like I do. He’s a vicious man when he’s angry.
“You’d better be grateful,” I add, marching around the room, thinking of what I’m going to do now.
“For what? For taking me to some stanky, nasty-ass motel on some filthy road?” she says.
I stop in my tracks. “You wouldn’t even be alive if it wasn’t for me.”
“Am I really, though?” She angles her head, the look on her face instantly transformed from punchable to dead serious. “Because you’re still holding a gun to my face. You’re the one keeping me captive.”
When I open my mouth, I have nothing to say, so I shut it again and grind my teeth instead. It takes me a few seconds to form a reply.
“Being with me is the better option here, trust me.”
“Not in my book,” she says, averting her eyes.
“You really wanna die that badly?” I say, leaning against the dresser in front of the bed.
“Maybe.” She gazes up at me from underneath her lashes with those same eyes. Those eyes that once looked at me in awe. The same eyes that once made me want to go to my knees and worship the very ground she walked on. Those same eyes that made me swear I’d never go back to that place where everything went to shit.
“Or maybe I don’t wanna be stuck here with you.”
That hurt. Physically. I felt it in my fucking bones.
Fuck her. She’s only trying to get under my skin. That’s her goddamn plan—to manipulate me into giving her a swift end—but I won’t be that merciful. Not after what she did. She deserves everything coming to her and more.
It’ll be me who gives her all the pain in the world.
I just haven’t decided yet on when, where, and more importantly … how.
First, I need a cig. I fish in my pockets and take one out, lighting it in my mouth. She continues to stare at me as though I have something on my face. Or maybe she’s trying to make me disappear. At this point, I honestly don’t know what she wants anymore. She’s still as reckless as I remember.
“You can’t smoke in here,” she says, her brows drawing together.
I take a drag and blow out the smoke before replying. “Says who?”
She points at a small sign hanging above the bathroom door.
I shrug and take another drag. Too late to stop now. Just like this train wreck of a situation.
She licks her bottom lip, and says, “Can I have one too?”
I frown and glare at her, taking another drag. Is she serious?
“For old time’s sake,” she says, holding out her hand.
Sighing, I take another cig from my packet and give her one. She puts it in her mouth and leans in so I can light it. She takes a drag, and when she blows out the smoke, she moans.
“God … that’s good.”
The way she says it, so sexually charged, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I have to will my boner down right now. Goddammit.
I swiftly turn and face the mirror on the wall before she sees. I’m still watching her, though, and from the obvious smirk on her face, she definitely saw.
I take another drag, then another. I’ll probably finish the entire pack before the night is over.
Fuck me and that fucking girl sitting on that bed. If it wasn’t for her and those goddamn bombs she set up, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. Why the fuck did she do it anyway? Does she hate my uncle that much? More than she hates me?
When I’m sure my boner is gone, I turn around and lean against the dresser with folded arms. “Tell me why you blew up the hotel.”
“I already told you I’m not gonna tell,” she says, making a face. “You should’ve told me you’ve gone deaf, Brandon.”
I ignore the obvious dig and pry some more. “Is it because of me? Because I work for him?”