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The way my voice breaks and quaversisn’tactually thanks to my amazing acting chops.
I’m just that scared for my fucking life right now.
“I—I didn’t see anything! I swear!” I choke. “I’ll never tell a soul! Please, just let me go.”
His head flicks up from the ID, pinning me with that same cold stare. I can feel him assessing me, weighing my words, like he’s deciding again whether I’m worth the trouble.
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely think.
He steps closer, pressing his body against mine and pinning me even harder to the cracked glass behind me.
I can feel the heat of his body. I can smell the coppery tang of blood in the air.
“Do you really think I’m just going to let you walk out of here?” His voice is low, a dangerous purr that sends a shiver down my spine.
I shake my head, unable to form words. My mind is a vortex of panic and fear. Every instinct screams at me to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
The hand still holding my ID lifts. He drags the plastic corner of it along my collarbone, over the black cotton of my t-shirt, down over my breast until it rests right on my heart.
My breath catches in my throat and I try to push him away again, but his grip tightens, easily holding me in place.
“I didn’t see anything,” I repeat, my voice trembling. “I’ll forget it. Iswear.”
For a second, there’s only silence, the weight of it pressing down on me like a physical force.
Then he leans in, his breath hot in my ear as he speaks using a low, dangerous tone that sends a chill through my entire body. “You know what Ihate?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m paralyzed by fear, my mind scrambling for something—anything—to get me out of this alive.
“Liars,” he growls, his fingers tightening slightly around my throat. He taps my chest with the ID again before he raises it, pushing it up against the underside of my chin and forcing me to tip my head up. “And you, Karen Vanderschmit, are averybad liar.”
I’m about to say something, but I stutter to a stop when he slowly shakes his head. He slides my ID into his leather jacket. When his hand comes back out, empty, my pulse skips as he brings it up to cup my jaw, right above where his other hand is still gripping my throat.
The creepy, demonic mask tilts to the side as he cups my chin. His thumb brushes down the edge of my jaw, teasing over my skin in a way that’s somehow both sensual and violent. He does it again, tilting his head the other way, still not saying a word.
Then he changes it up.
This time, it’s not my jawline that he runs the pad of his thumb over.
It’s mylips.
Something dark and dangerous twists inside of me as his big thumb slowly drags across my bottom lip, pushing it to the side. He does it again, sliding his thumb back the other way.
The whole time, he watches me. I canfeelhis eyes on me even if I can’t see them, dark and predatory, daring me to resist.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
He runs his thumb across my lip a third time. This time, it pushes into my mouth. I tighten my lips on instinct, never mind total confusion as to what’s happening.
It doesn’t stop him. It barely even slows him down. His thumb just pushes harder, demanding entrance and pushing its way between my lips even before they go slack.
His thumb pushes deeper, grazing my tongue. My pulse skyrockets, my mind unable to process the fear and shame crashing together inside me like a storm.
“Suck.”
Reality skews a little. I didn’t just hear that, did I?
