Page 37 of Pretty Little Threats

His lips twitch as he rises, searching my face for a second before saying, “Don’t move.” He turns and walks across the glass, skirting around Eric’s prone form, taking my false sense of security with him. The farther away he gets, the more my mind focuses on the way the knife cut through Eric’s skin like it was nothing. The way the flesh pulled apart and crimson poured out of the wound.

“Hey, princess?” Dare’s voice drags me out of my mind. At the stairs, he’s poised with his hand on the railing, ready to ascend. “Breathe.”

And then I realize my lungs are on fire, begging for air. I nod at Dare and inhale. He watches me for another moment before returning to his task. I focus on anything in the room but the body. The pulsing ache in my feet. The weight of my body. The way my shoulders hunch. The way Dare is the one thing helping me through.

But that’s only because he has me. I played the game and lost. My goal was to get into his head, find a way to get what JD Miller & Co needs, and get him off the board. Now he’s the one who could destroy my life.

Stupid girl.

Pinching my eyes closed, I fight the nausearolling around in my gut.

How is it that, in a matter of days, I’ve undone all my hard work?

“You’re thinking too loud,” Dare murmurs, his voice soft and incredibly close.

A gasp slips past my lips and I open my eyes, breathing in the heady vetiver surrounding me. Dare is mere inches from me, his body nestled between my parted legs. I didn’t hear him approach. Didn’t even notice him closing in. He had every chance to kill me, to get rid of whatever threat I pose. But he didn’t. A hard line forms above my nose as I search his face. The amber streaks in his deep brown irises are so beautiful, complex and intriguing and confusing.

I don’t know how I ever thought his eyes were one, soulless color.

There’s no hate in his gaze—only pity—like he knows the demons I’m battling by simply looking at me. Like he’s picked apart the pieces of my being and found me lacking.

A burst of anger has me straightening until my nose nearly brushes his. “What are you looking at?” I demand.

Dare’s eyes narrow, and whatever I thought I read in his face quickly morphs into a mask of boredom. “I brought your mouthwash too.” He hands me the travel-size container I keep in my purse.

Grudgingly thankful, I open the bottle and swish some around my mouth before spitting into my empty water cup. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, this is going to hurt.” He crouches and takes my ankle in one hand, the tweezers in the other, and gently digs for the final piece of glass. I grind my jaw and dig my nails into my palms to keep from crying.

“It’s okay to cry.”

What does he know?

“You can’t keep bottling up your emotions,” he chastises.

I’m tired of him thinking he knows me.

“Fuck you. How’s that for emotion?”

He scoffs. “That’s not very nice. I’m helping you.”

“You’re extorting me.”

“Pot. Kettle. You. Me.”

As the glass finally tugs free of my skin, a fresh stab of pain runs up my leg. I gasp but quickly slam my lips closed, refusing to give in to the emotions in front of Dare, but it’s almost too much. My vision blurs. Dare sets the tweezers aside and stands, giving me his back as he takes in the mess. A tear breaks free. I bat it away, and by the time he turns back, I’ve got myself under control.

“There’s a body.”

His eyes widen. “Really? Where?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”

“I’ll remember all the hate you spew the next time I make you beg to come.”

Heat fills my belly, an entirely inappropriate response, given the current situation, but Dare does something to me I don’t understand. His mere presence makes me want to throw all caution to the wind. To embrace the whisper of a voice inside me that says he’s not as bad as everyone says. That curiosity, in itself, is dangerous. “That won’t be happening again.”

He smirks.We’ll see.

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