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She’s settled her back against the breakfast bar and is rubbing her hands together. Anxiety is pouring out of her and I’m starting to feel bad for her. She’s slowly realizing what a fucking mess she put herself in. She shouldn’t have to go through the horrible situation of trying to escape Nate. No one should.
“You heard her,” I insist.
Nate smiles coldly at me and slowly walks toward Jamie as Sam leans on the back of the sofa, folding his tattooed arms over his chest and watching my two best friends in case they try a move. He keeps quiet like he always does, but I know deep down he’s waiting for it all to explode.
I can see Jamie squirming as Nathan gets closer to her.
“‘Me,” he huffs and grabs the back of her neck in a hard grip. His fingers tangle with her hair and she jumps at the harsh touch like it was the last thing she expected from him. “Why don’t you try to understand?”
I thought Bianco had destroyed any sort of feeling inside me. That no matter how much effort I put in pretending to care, or to be happy, or to have fun it would never feel genuine inside me. Then how come, when Nate touches Jamie and she flinches, the beast inside me wakes up in a split second? I thought I was stuck in an infinity of emptiness, but Jamie…I can’t even pretend I don’t feel anything because right now…right now I see red. I tried to keep it together, I lasted about five minutes. Who fucking cares?
Rose is the first to notice the sudden change as I stride toward Nate and Jamie.
“Jake don’t–” but I can’t hear her. I grab Nate by the shoulder, pulling him away from Jamie, and my fist lands hard on his face.
“Don’t. Fucking. Touch her!” I roar.
Jamie’s loud gasp doesn’t help. I wanted to not care about her or at worst hate her, and I wanted to stay away from her. I tried to respect the fact that she chose someone else, but that was before I realized the ‘someone else’ was Nate.
My obsessivity over her creeps back and drowns out my common sense. She’s mine. She was always mine. The way her body responds to mine, the way she submits under my touch. She made the wrong choice, and I’m not about to let her forget that.
Nate staggers back but quickly straightens back up. The fucker can really take a punch and I can see Chris’ surprise written all over his face. He knows how hard and technical my punches are. Both Chris and Luke knew of Nate, but they didn’t know him. How could they? He was meant to be fucking dead. I think they’re starting to get the kind of guy he is.
Chris and Luke are about to come for help, so I hold a hand up as Nate walks back to face me.
“I don’t think I need to explain to you how bad you just fucked up, do I?” he taunts me.
“Get the fuck out of here. I don’t give a shit about your threats.”
“My threats? Oh, Jake, you’re so cute.”
“Leave. It’s your last warning.” I take another step toward him and our foreheads are practically touching.
I’m larger than him, but Nate’s lean muscles and hidden strength is what has always fooled people into thinking he was an easy target. He’s not. His strength comes from the psychopathic traits he hides and the lack of fear. It comes from the deep will of actually wanting to kill people.
He’s slightly taller than me, but it’s because he’s instilled fear in me too deep and too long ago that I know it’s not a good idea to fight him. Unfortunately, sometimes, anger drives one to do stupid things.
He chuckles, looks behind me, probably at Jamie, and back at me.
“What’s up? You think if you play the hero you got a chance with her? You’re no fucking hero, Jake.”
He smirks at me and I instantly know where he’s going. My heart is beating so hard in my chest, I’m surprised my shirt isn’t moving to the rhythm.
“You couldn’t save yourself,” he lowers his voice, “and you definitely couldn’t save Ozy–”
I punch him again and this time he falls to the floor.
“Fuck! Jake, stop!” Rose’s husky voice pierces through my rage. It’s drowned out as fast as it came.
She knows he’s going to kick my ass. She knows what he’s capable of and she’s scared for me, but I don’t care. My body is taking control and it wants blood.
I hurry on top of him to punch him again. He easily avoids it and flips us around. I feel the gun at the back of my jeans slip away before I can reach it.
“Really? You’re packing? That’s fucking weak,” he laughs.
His fist lands just below my eye and the pain shoots all the way to my skull. It quickly disappears as adrenaline takes over.
“See, Jake, I don’t need a fucking gun to beat you. You’re so weak it’s barely effort.”
