Page 13 of Savage Salvation

“Call them. I’m not leaving until you open the door.” His muffled command is not shocking. At all.

“Go. Away. Gage.” I yell, but it falls upon deaf ears as he remains unmoving.

“Start dialing. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is loud enough for me to hear clearly through the glass and his stubborn determination pisses me off even more.

“Fine.” I reach into my pocket. I’ll dial the police, and then … what do I tell them? There’s a drenched psychopath standing at the entrance who won’t go away? If they’ve ever had the unpleasant opportunity of meeting Gage Hawthorne, I won’t have to tell them anything except the asshole’s name. But I don’t want to deal with the police or the prick still standing rigid in front of the door. He doesn’t have to know I’m not calling. Maybe he’ll get tired and leave eventually. I can hope at least.

As I turn to walk away, he shouts, “I saw you there. At the Den.”

Yeah. No shit. Couldn’t have guessed from his ferocious watch on me. Scenes of the violent competition enter my mind, but what hits me in my gut more than anything is the vision of the way his commanding presence held my eyes, almost like we were the only two in that abandoned factory. There was a connection; it was undeniable. I felt it, even though I didn’t want to. But I won’t ever admit as much to him. He already has a swollen ego and doesn’t need any further encouragement, especially from me. “Yeah. I was there with Isaac.”

“You should’ve been there with me.”

What the hell is up with the male species the last few days? Have they all drank some say-and-do-stupid-shit Kool-Aid or something? “I’ll pass.”

“Five minutes. Open the door. Let me in for five goddamn minutes, then I’ll walk away. I’ll leave if you tell me to, if you want me to go.” His sincere-sounding offer causes me to stop.

“You don’t do anything anyone asks you to do. And I want you to go now.” I step back, like that’s gonna make a difference. There’s no amount of space I can put between Gage and me that’ll ever be enough. Because as much as I loathe him, there’s a part that still wants him to be someone he’s not—a decent human being on the inside to match what’s on the surface. But that’s as much of a pipe dream as believing he’ll actually listen to me and get lost.

“I just want to give you this.” He holds his hand that’s clutching a pink gift bag of all things, most of it saturated from the raindrops.

“What is it? A grenade? The heart of a sacrificial goat?”

“Open the door and find out.” His mischievous smile confirms he doesn’t take my question seriously. There’s nothing he’d bring me in the middle of the damn night that doesn’t have something lethal attached to it.

“I don’t care what it is. Go. Away.”

“I will. After you open your birthday gift, I’ll go.”

“I don’t want anything from you. It won’t take you more than five seconds to do damage, as usual.” I take another step back, turning away from him.

“How much damage can I do out here?” The shouted question causes me to stop. Even with the barrier, I know he can do damage. “I’m sure your boss wouldn’t appreciate a busted storefront under your watch.”

“You wouldn’t,” I snarl. But he would. And I know it when I look at his menacing face. He knows he’s about to get his way. He always does.

“Five minutes or you’ll have an extended phone call with plenty explaining to do.”

“Nothing can explain how ignorant you truly are.” I hesitate for a second, my fingers ache from clutching the bat as I stare at the deviant who won’t give up. “I will smash your skull if you try something stupid.”

His grin grows to a full-on smile, the damage from the match coming into better view as my fingers hesitantly punch in the alarm code before unlatching the dead bolt on the door. I’ll regret caving to him. That much I already know and fully accept. How much he’ll make me regret the decision to let him in is what worries me. Because maybe there’s some part of me that hopes the kind little boy is still inside him somewhere and hasn’t been completely smothered out by the shithead he’s grown into.

I step back as he pulls the door open and steps into the store. Water drips on the linoleum, not that he’s concerned. “Did you not realize it was raining before your excursion?”

“It’s cold out there too.” It takes me a second to catch onto his sexy smirk as his eyes dart down to my shirt. Since I was attempting to sleep, of course I don’t have a bra on. There’s no point in hiding what I know he can make out under the thin fabric of my tank. My hard nipples. “You have four minutes.”

My fingers grip the weapon that I should swing, but I decide to remain calm. For the time being anyways.

Gage lifts his arm, holding the saturated gift bag out. “Happy birthday.”

Is he really here to give me a damn gift? I eye him, then the bag, then turn a dumbfounded look back on the idiot, dripping wet in the middle of Savage Serenade Music at 4 a.m. A motherfucking pink gift bag. “You’re unhinged. Deeply.”

“Yep.” He nods, gesturing at the gift as I grab it from him.

At least he owns it. But that’s not the least bit surprising. Gage owns everything. And it’s clear why. As much as I loathe him, when my eyes take in his soaked shirt, revealing a muscular torso, I have no control over the flashes of lust that zap through me. The way the wet material clings to him makes me want a peek underneath that shirt, and maybe lower. Heat flushes my chest, and thank goodness my nipples are already hard from the cold or it wouldn’t be too tough for Gage to guess what I’m thinking.

I tuck the bat under my arm, clutching it to my side as I cautiously look into the bag. My fingers freeze. All I can do is gawk at the gift for a minute. Looking up to him, I watch as a genuine smile rises on his face. Apparently, he’s pleased by my shock as I reach in and pull out a sack of my favorite candy. Exactly my favorite down to the flavor and brand of the strawberry saltwater taffy.

“What the hell is this?” Rather than thoughtful, his gift feels invasive. It means he pays more attention to me than I thought. He had to have seen me eating it around school or something. But I usually only have a few random pieces on me, nothing with the flavor or the bag with the brand. “When did you even buy it? It’s in the middle of the night.”