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He laughs, but there isn’t even a hint of amusement on his face. “Alley. Now.”
For a moment, I just stare at him. His dark hair is styled and swept to one side, and his brown eyes pierce mine with such intensity I shiver.
Walking into an alley with a murderer doesn’t sound smart, but when it comes to the man in front of me, I rarely am. And while he may have lied to me, I know him—and I know that he’d never hurt me.
So I step a few feet into the alley beside the shop. He follows, hands shoved into his pockets. After a moment of silence, he steps toward me.
“I’ve missed you, Sophia.”
So have I. But I don’t say it out loud. Instead, I shake my head. “Is that all you have to say? The last time I saw you, you drowned a man. And all you have to say is you miss me?”
I turn to walk away, but Alexander grabs my arm and slams me into the wall. I cringe, expecting my head to hit the bricks, but it hits something softer instead—his hand.
Deadly but gentle.
“Just leave me alone,” I whisper, even as my head spins at how close he is to me.
“I don’t think that’s what you really want. Is it, little bird?” His thumb comes up to trace my jawbone, and I hate how my eyes slip closed at his touch.
“You can’t tell me what I feel,” I say, but my resolve is weakening—and it’s showing. “And you can’t tell me what to do.”
“I can,” he murmurs in my ear, “and I will.” One of his arms wraps around me and pulls me into him. “You’re going to listen to me, Sophia. Whether you like it or not.”
With a grunt, I punch him in the arm, but he doesn’t seem hurt at all. Instead, he glares at me for a moment. Then I feel the strings of my apron loosen around my waist before he yanks it over my head.
“W-what are you doing?” I ask, but his only answer is dragging me farther into the alley. “Alexander, what are you—”
He stops me behind a dumpster, shielding us from the view of the street. He grabs my wrists, and I feel the fabric of my apron tightening against my skin. Then he turns me so I’m facing him, keeping me close to the wall.
No, not the wall. The pipes lining it.
“Alexander, don’t you dare—” I struggle against him, but he pins me to the wall with his body until he’s done. When he moves back, I can only take a step forward before I feel a pull on the apron, expertly holding me to the pipes.
His hand grips my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to do it without struggling. Now, do I need to gag you as well?”
I glare up at him, silent. And not because I’m contemplating screaming. No, my mind is on something he said weeks ago, before I’d given him another chance.
I can read you like a book, remember? And you want me to shove you into the nearest alley and rip your clothes off, tie you up with this little apron, and then fuck you until the whole city hears your screams.
“Do you know,” he says with lethal softness, “why I killed my father?” He turns my chin to one side, and then to the other, inspecting me like I’m his next meal.
“No,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I can’t let him see the want in them. I can’t want him. I just can’t.
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, little bird.” His voice is gentle, but his grip on my chin is anything but.
When I open my eyes, he smirks with satisfaction.
“You didn’t think you could hide your arousal from me, did you?” He releases my chin, his fingers ghosting down my neck and stopping at my collarbone.
I stay silent, glaring, waiting. I just want to go home and cry. But it’s not entirely true. Because he’s right—I also want him to follow through on his threat of taking me right here.
His fingers sink an inch or two lower as he says, “For as long as I can remember, my father was an abusive tyrant. Held me to ridiculously high expectations. Tore Brooke down whenever he got the chance, all because he wanted another son. Beat my mother over and over again. Almost killed her a few times.”
I shudder as Xander rests his fingers in between my breasts. His voice is so calm, you’d think he’s talking about the weather. How can he stay so calm and measured while talking about something so horrible—so traumatizing?
“Your mother found out one day. They were at a party, and she walked in on Everly touching up the makeup on one of her bruises. Your parents tried to help her, Soph. Tried to help us. That’s why Francis targeted your parents. He needed to strip away every little bit of power and influence from them so he could keep his hold on my mother. On us.”
I close my eyes as tears threaten to spill over. How had I never seen it? Is that why Brooke was such a mess during high school? “Why didn’t you tell me he was like that?” I whisper. “You promised never to keep anything from me.”
