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“Youdobelong to me,” I growl.
The admission feels like it’s torn from a part of myself I’ve been trying to bury for weeks. I hate that she’s gotten under my skin like this, that no matter how far I run, no matter how much distance I put between us, she’s always there.
Freya’s eyes search mine. I can see in them the war she’s fighting with herself, the struggle on her face. She wants to deny it, to push me away, but she can’t.
“Why did you leave?” she demands, her voice cracking.
I don’t answer right away. How can I explain the storm raging inside me? The way she quiets the chaos in my head, even as she drives me mad?
“Because I knew if I stayed, I’d consume you,” I finally growl.
Her eyes soften for a split second, and that look—that briefest moment of vulnerability—almost undoes me. Then her expression hardens again.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she snaps. “You don’t get to bounce in and out of my life whenever you feel like it!”
Guilt crashes into me. She’s right, and I don’t deserve the way she looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to say all the right things that will make this all make sense.
I don’t have those words.
“Youleft,” she says again, her voice tight and angry. “You just disappeared. And now, golly-gee, you’re back!” Her eyes narrow. “I’m not someprostitutefor you to justscrewwhenever you feel like it!” she snaps.
Her words hit me like a punch. And the problem with me and punches is that I only have one reaction when someone throws one at me.
I throw one back.
“I didn’t hear any complaints before.”
Regret immediately hits me like a truck, but it’s too late. Her expression shifts, fury and betrayal flooding her face.
“Fuck you, Mal,” she spits, shoving me hard.
I stumble back into the wall. Before I can recover, she bolts, leaving me standing there, cursing under my breath.
Fuck.
I push away from the wall and charge after her, barreling through the VIP section. The thumping bass of the club’s sound system fills the air, but all I can focus on is Freya as she shoves through the crowd.
I catch up to her outside, grabbing her arm, spinning her around, and slamming her back against the cold brick wall of the alley.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps.
I’m not thinking clearly, but I need her to listen and maybe understand, even if I don’t understand myself.
“I don’tdothis,” I growl. “I don’t do relationships. That’s not me.”
Freya glares, her eyes flashing as she barks out a cold laugh. “I’m not asking you to be my fuckingboyfriend, asshole! I’m asking for basic human decency!”
“Fresh out of that, too,” I snarl.
It’s true. Kasper beat any decency out of me years ago. Or maybe I never had it to begin with. Either way, any softness or kindness I was born with—it’s long gone.
This is who I am now. And I don’t know how to be anyone else.
Anger flashes in Freya’s face as she juts out her chin at me. “You don’t get to come into my life, fuck with my head, and then just walk away when it suits you.”
Her chest heaves as she glares at me. I want to shut her up with a kiss, force her to stop talking and throwing my own weaknesses back in my face. But I can’t. Not yet.
“I’m not doing this anymore, Mal,” she says, her voice breaking. “I just can’t do this whiplash with you.”
