Page 115 of Lucky 14

“Now,” I demand, meeting his gaze head-on. He doesn’t know how to control his emotions, and it's impacting Wyatt. So I’ll guide him. And he’ll listen to me, or I’ll make him. Because it’s our only chance.

There’s a brief power struggle, and Oakley throws his hands up and stomps to the couch.

“Put your head between your legs and breathe,” I demand again, turning back to Wyatt. He’s watching me with such an intense look that it catches me off guard. This looks like the Wyatt I knew from the hotel room. It simultaneously makes my heart race and gives me a rush of confidence. I know this Wyatt, and I can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad thing.

When I glance over, Oakley isn’t listening to me. He’s watching us with a level of anger on his face. Anger that I know Wyatt sees.

So, I stalk around the couch, tucking the gun in the waistband of my dirty, torn slacks.

“What are you⁠—“

“Having a hard time listening?” I ask before I grab Oakley’s head and shove it down. I need to show Wyatt that I mean what I say. That you can’t fight me. I’m Fourteen, and in this moment, I’m the only one in charge.

Oakley fights me for a second, but when I grip his hair, he listens, bending over while muttering. I get down to his level, and when he feels me at his ear, he freezes.

“You’re not helping,” I mutter. “So you’re gonna sit here until you can get it together. Got it?” I’m angry, but I’m also calm. I know exactly what needs to happen, and I'll be damned if either one of them gets in the way of that.”

“Got it,” Oakley grits, but there’s less anger in his tone.

“Good.” I stand, stalking back to Wyatt. He watches me, his gaze dark. That’s when I notice his pupils are blown.

He liked that.

For a second, I evaluate him. He’s no longer straining, and his focus is solely on me. Suddenly, I remember when I fought him in his room. The way he looked at me with a similar kind of look. Right before he…switched. He switched, right? That’s what made him leave me alone.

Is this the key to getting Wyatt to switch?

I hesitate for a second. This is risky. Wyatt is a shit-ton bigger than me, and I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never dommed anyone before, but that’s clearly something he wants. Needs. At least, he responds to it.

As he watches me hesitate, I watch his right wrist twist. Like he’s seeking sensation.

And that decides it for me.

“What are you looking at?” I raise an eyebrow at Wyatt. “Eyes on the ground.”

We stare at each other for a beat, Wyatt’s dark eyes gazing into mine. Searching, reaching, like he’s trying to dig into the deepest portions of my soul. Testing me.

For a second, I want to look away, but I don’t. Let him see it. The uncertainty, the anger, and most of all, the determination. Wyatt gave that to me. Forged it right here on this island when he tagged my ear with the number fourteen and demanded I run, only to be hunted down and killed.

I quirk an eyebrow at him. Because he’s still not listening, even though his pupils are almost drowned in black. “Brain running a little slow today? Or are you asking me to help you?” My heartbeat picks up as, instead of his face twisting in anger, his pupils widen further. He’s into this.

I make an impulsive decision. I snap forward, cracking his cheek with my hand, and step back. I know Wyatt is tied, but it doesn’t feel like it. He’s huge and dangerous, and I’m sure could break away if he tried.

There’s a beat of silence where a mix of horror, fear, and triumph fills me all at once. Wyatt snarls, and I reach for the gun behind me, bracing myself for the inevitable launch at me.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, Wyatt lowers his gaze. He looks at my collarbones instead of my face, lowering his gaze like I told him to. Not exactly like I told him to, but something like it.

There’s an elated feeling bubbling up in my chest. Holy fuck. He’s listening.

“Did I say my tits or the ground?” I try to keep the excited tremble from my voice, but it’s still there. Wyatt’s gaze snaps up to evaluate me, and when it does, I step in again. This time, I step on his foot, hard, leaning all my weight into it while I grab the top of his head like I did Oakley’s and yank his head down.

“So you’re running a little slow today. Or maybe you just don’t think I mean what I say.” The tremble is still there because fuck, I’m close to him now, his scent filling my head and the silky strands of his hair between my fingers, and fuck he’s letting me do this to him. Is he really letting me do this? I’m caught between elation and fear that I’m antagonizing someone who could snap me in half if given a chance.

Wyatt doesn’t respond, so I grip his hair tight enough to dig my nails into my palm. I’m rewarded with the tiniest breath of air. It’s not a grunt, more like a suppressed…something.

“Say thank you,” I say, feeling like I don’t have enough breath to get the words out because there’s a funny racing of my pulse and a fluttering in my pelvis. The next words come out more like a breath. “Thank me for my patience.”

Wyatt stays perfectly still and quiet. Like he’s testing me. Like he has no idea how far I’ll push my own fear to prove him and this island wrong. How far I’ll go to take back control of my own life. To live again.