Page 20 of Sick Little Devotion

My eyes widen, and I let out a hissing breath. What the hell is he talking about? He can’t stay here. I have to stay here to protect the girls. He should understand that, considering he was once in this house himself. And that thought infuriates me.

So I fight harder. I bite down on the palm of his hand, and his body tenses but shows no weakness. His face doesn't even flinch. Aiden is a brute of a man in stature, and it shows as he finally hauls me up and right off the edge of the bed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Aiden sneers, slightly amused, in a whispery tone. “I’m here. I’m back to help you escape from this place.”

Wild anger thrums through my body. He’s too fucking late. I had to take care of myself. Without him. Each day for the last seven years was nothing but a battle to survive. I don’t need his protection anymore. And yet, he continues to drag me toward… the window. The open window.

He’s been coming here.

My mouth grows dry. My body feels weak, and then the adrenaline shoots through me like a drug. I plant my feet, and Aiden lets out a sigh. He shifts, and no amount of flailing seems to faze him in the slightest. In fact, he seems annoyed with me. He adjusts himself, placing his body behind mine.

Being glued to the spot forces us against each other. His hand is still over my mouth, and my eyes scan the room wildly. A sliver of black catches my attention, and there, lying on my desk, is a shotgun.

“I’ll let you speak as soon as we get out of here,” Aiden says to me, pressing his body into mine. As he does, I feel him against my backside. I fight the urge not to rub against his erection, though the fact that he’s hard while trying to kidnap me should be concerning.

But I still feel the urge. In fact, if I think about it too hard, I start to feel much more than just anger. So, I don’t think about it. I don’t think about what we had or how much I fucking missed him. All I think about is the fact that he’s been creeping in my room, which means…

Oh. My. God.

He shoves me forward, and I would’ve faceplanted if it weren’t for his firm grasp. I’m starting to sweat beneath his hand, and I want more than anything to be able to speak. But what would I say?

“You’re going to go straight out the window, and if you even think about running, I’ll make you regret it, Sara.” I blink at the hostility in his voice. He reaches around me as we make it to the desk, grabbing the shotgun. A flicker of heat flashes in his eyes. “You scream, and I’ll ensure you’re fucked in front of your entire family.”

My cheeks grow flaming hot at the thought, and as his hand drops from my face. I consider screaming… but I don’t. I release a frustrated breath, but I obey and crawl over my desk, then drop down out of my window. My bare feet hit the grass, and the sound of my ragged breaths seem like cannon shots in the still night.

I take in the ornate, manicured backyard. It’s gorgeous under the moonlight, but the moment my gaze hits the pool house, I feel sick.

“I can’t leave them,” I choke out, spinning around to see Aiden, now standing with a gun pointed at me. “I can’t.”

“Ron won’t hurt them.”

“Yes, he will,” I argue, my voice barely audible. I should be screaming. I should be losing it on Aiden—but instead, I’m standing here having a civilized conversation like I don’t fucking hate him and there’s not some sort of gangster shotgun pointed at me.

“He’s dead.”

Aiden’s deep voice sends a shiver through my body, and it’s unwanted. I hate the way he’s affecting me. I hate the fact he’s standing here, commanding attention with everything about him and that he seems to be under the impression that Ron is dead.

“He’s not.”

“Sara, I just fucking murdered him,” Aiden snaps, taking a step toward me, the gun still pointed at me. “And now, we’re leaving. I’m taking you home.”

“You sound batshit crazy,” I shoot back at him, folding my arms across my chest to hide how hard my hands are shaking. “You need to go.” As the words leave my lips, I finally see it—a spray of deep crimson across his face.

Blood splatter.

I shake my head. No, this cannot be happening.

“Sara, don’t make me do something I don’t want to.” His words are careful as he inches toward me. “We can talk all this out in the car.”

“You’re not taking me anywhere,” I croak, stumbling backward. I’m terrified to look away from him, but I’m terrified to look at him, too. I lose my footing and crash to the ground, my ass thudding against grass.

“Damnit,” he mutters, and within seconds, he’s scooping me up in his muscled arms, clutching me painfully and carrying me right out of the yard. “If you wanna fight, we can fight when we get home.”

Home?

I don’t know if it’s the shock or the heartache, but I can’t bring myself to do anything. I’m a worthless fighter, obviously. I should be screaming. Or crying. But nothing is coming out. I should be borderline embarrassed. Except I don’t feel that either.

I feel nothing.