Trapping Sophia (Disciples 6)

Frustrated and angry beyond belief now, tears sting my eyes as I shake my head and shout, “No! Fuck you! I don’t want to eat!”

I try to stand up again only to be shoved back down. When my butt hits the stool again, I grab the plate and launch it at him out of spite.

“Fuck!” he shouts and jumps away, bringing his arm up to protect his face.

The plate smacks against his forearm before clattering to the floor.

I stand up from the stool so fast it topples over, landing between us.

Bare chest heaving, James looks down at the floor, at the eggs splattered across his pecs and abs, then he looks at me.

There’s anger in his gaze. Oh yes, there’s anger, but there’s also something else. Something that makes me incredibly uneasy. “Sophia…”

He swipes at his chest, wiping off most of the egg, his eyes never leaving me. Then he starts to step over the toppled stool.

Quickly, I take a step back to keep some distance between us.

“You need to leave, James,” I try to say firmly, but my voice wobbles.

He needs to leave for the sake of my sanity.

I cannot deal with all this shit today.

I don’t want to do this today.

James shakes his head and continues to advance on me, forcing me to stumble backwards. “I’m not leaving.”

“Get out of my house, dammit! Go! I don’t want you here!” I cry out, my damn emotions all over the place.

I’ve gone from being annoyed and angry to being regretful and afraid in the blink of an eye. I don’t know how it’s come to this. How he’s managed, yet again, to bring out the worst in me.

“Leave before I call the police!”

James shakes his head again, prowling forward. So sleek, muscled, and lethal, he reminds me of a panther ready to pounce his prey.

Not knowing what else to do, having failed to intimidate him with my threat, I let out a shriek and decide to make a run for it.

Spinning around, I run for the front door.

My purse and phone are in the living room somewhere, too far away.

But I know, thanks to James and his visitors, that there have been active patrols around my house.

If I can make it outside, I can get help.

The kitchen is right off the foyer. There’s only about ten feet between me and the front door. A short distance any other day but today.

Running as fast as I can, I barely beat James. My fingers fumble as I struggle to quickly twist the lock, wasting precious seconds, but in the end, I manage it.

A sense of triumph begins to fill me as I grab the handle and start to pull the door open.

Only to completely shatter as James crashes into me, his body forcing my body to slam the door closed again.

Defeated, but not ready to give up yet, I keep my grip on the handle and throw my weight back, trying to force him off.

Only to have him push back into me again, flattening me against the door.

We fight back and forth for a couple of minutes, with him overpowering me each time, until I finally release a screech of pure frustration.

Releasing the handle, I pound my fist once against the door then I twist around.

I shove at his hard chest and tell him to, “Go! Just go away, dammit!”

He barely budges. Hands planted firmly on the door, his arms are tensed and locked. Keeping me trapped.

Breathing heavily, his expression is somehow completely calm as he says, “No. I’m not leaving, Sophia.”

I shake my head in disbelief. I’m so worked up, so distraught over this whole stupid situation, I nearly wail as I push at him, “Why? Why won’t you go? Why won’t you leave me in peace? Why are you doing this to me?!”

If he had a heart or soul, he’d realize how very, very evil he’s being by pulling this shit on me right now.

When my entire world has broken and crumbled.

Dark eyes capturing my eyes, they bore into me as he says, “Because I can’t sit back and watch you waste away.”

What?

His answer is so unexpected, it throws me off.

Panting, I stare at him in disbelief.

Is he serious? Or does he think I’m stupid?

I shove at him again. “I’m not wasting away.”

Showing his own frustration, James leans in and growls, “You are. You’re not eating. You’re barely sleeping. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

His criticism and fake concern hurts more than it should, and my first instinct is to brush it off.

“Not eating for a couple of days isn’t going to kill me,” I scoff.

But being stuck with him in this house just might.

“Try more like four,” he counters.

I blink at him. How does he even know it’s been four days?

Then I remember Johnathan stopped by. They probably traded information about me. Keeping tabs on me.