Page 41 of Pretty Little Threats

Fucking cunt.

“Goddammit.” I hear Dare’s rough voice seconds before his hand finds my throat and the other buries in my hair, tipping my head back until our eyes meet. Mine glassy, hisstormy and dark and as turbulent as the sea. “Breathe,” he demands.

And like that command sets me free of the memory, air fills my lungs and the fingers around my neck softly flex, coaxing me to take another breath. I drown in the depths of Dare’s gaze, willingly sacrificing myself to the beast to escape the phantom. Dare is here. Dare is real. Dare helped me kill Eric.

I don’t regret it, don’t feel as guilty as I should, and the angry edge in Dare’s irises tells me, neither does he. We might hate each other, we might want to destroy one another, but we share the violence of the moment.

Our fates intertwined and bathed in blood.

His grip in my hair grounds me, holds me up, keeps me aware until my heart stops racing and my breathing evens out. Hard lines are all but embedded in his skin as he carefully watches me, as if memorizing the way I put myself back together, tucking away every last scrap of Eric into the far recesses of my mind, right next to the memories of the night my mother died.

All this weeping is pathetic, Rosalynn. Your mother would be disappointed.

Ice sluices through my veins. I slam every emotion back behind a wall. Dare recoils slightly, though he still has his hand wrapped around my throat and the other in my hair. If anyone were to walk in, we’d look like lovers about to kiss, but I know the truth.

Deep down, Dare is worried about what I’ve found.

“You’re scared,” I whisper.

Dare’s gaze hardens, and his grip on my neck tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to warn. “You have no sense of self-preservation.” He releases me so abruptly, I topple over.

I get to my knees, but before I can tell him off, he shoves his shirt over my head. Growling, I push my arms through the sleeves and scowl at him. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re a brat. Lie down.” Dare flops onto the right side of the bed.

“If you think I’m going to sleep with you, you’re delusional.”

Dare arches his scarred eyebrow. “You’d rather sleep alone?”

“Obviously.”

“Fine.” He pushes off the bed and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

I glare at the door, waiting for him to barge back in and order me around some more, but five minutes pass and he doesn’t come back. Sighing, I lie back, turning on my side and trying to get comfortable.

Only, every time I close my eyes, Eric is there, and this time, Dare isn’t here to distract me. Stubbornness keeps me from calling him back, because I can’t give him the satisfaction of being right.

thirteen

DARE

Rose Miller is fucking infuriating.Annoying. Bratty and entitled. She’s the daughter of the man I hate. She thinks she’s hot shit. She thinks she’s untouchable. She has everyone believing she has no feelings. I wish that were true. Then, I wouldn’t be hearing the soft little cries escaping her throat.

From the way she clung to our conversation to keep from obsessing over what happened with Eric, it was obvious she needed an escape from her emotions. I gave it to her, fed into the hate she feels for me to keep her moving, but now that she forced me out, there’s nothing to distract her from those memories.

I rest my forehead against the wall next to the door, grinding my jaw to keep from going back inside.

I shouldn’t want to protect her, comfort her, save her from her own mind, but with every second that passes, my chest tightens. Her cries hit me in the gut, wrenching emotions that have no right to exist to the surface.

She’s suffering.

She’s a Miller.

Leave her be. She’s not yours to protect. Don’t fall for it. Don’t let her get inside your head, Dare.

A soft whine carries under the door. The sound of a wounded animal. Eric caused more than physical harm. My mind roars in protest. I clench my jaw so tight, I worry I’ll crack my molars, but I have to keep her at a distance. I can’t let her vulnerability get to me.

She sobs.

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