Page 47 of No, You Hang Up

“Don’t you ever touch her again. Do you understand me?” he murmurs, leaning in close until their lips are only an inch apart. Eric’s eyes are wide and full of fear that hopefully sobers him up enough to make the right choice, but he doesn’t respond.

Not until Huxley asks the question again. When he shakes him a little, Eric finally nods, the movement jerky and unsure. “Yes,” he whispers, sounding like the words are being torn from him. “Y-yeah I. I get it, okay?” His eyes dart to me over Hux’s shoulder, but the serial killer moves to block him with a snarled laugh.

“No, you don’t even get to look at her. If you do, I’ll cut out your eyes and feed them to you, little boy.”

The scary part is, I know he’d do it. I make a soft noise of protest in my throat, paralyzed with fear and something else I refuse to name. My hands twist in the fabric of my shirt, and I can’t tear my gaze away from the scene in front of me, no matter how hard I may want to.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

I don’t want to.

Only when Eric repeats what Huxley tells him to, his eyes downcast and the words leaving his lips—when he promises not to come back out here and to forget I exist—does Hux step away from the wall to let him stumble to his knees.

I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t be able to stand after that, either. But Huxley doesn’t look ruffled. He just runs his fingers through his dark, tousled hair and reaches down to drag Eric to his feet. It almost seems affectionate. Amiable, helpful even. But we all know the lie in that. Especially when he leans forward, crowding into Eric’s space to make him unsure and quite frankly, nervous as hell.

“Find someone else to disappoint, pretty boy,” he purrs sweetly, his breath fanning against Eric’s lips and causing the blond to shudder. “Or, if you want my advice…” Hux leans even closer and cups his jaw in one hand. To my surprise, Eric doesn’t pull away. But maybe he’s just too terrified. “Find someone who can teach you to be less of a disappointment, hmm?”

He steps back suddenly, and Eric almost hits the ground again. His mouth opens, then closes, and he gives both of us a fleeting, nervous glance before booking it back into the bar, the door closing hard behind him in a very final sort of way. I watch him go, and I’m too late to notice Hux turning and moving closer to me in the smooth, graceful way he has that reminds me of a predator.

I don’t notice until he’s pressed against me, and his fingers tilt my chin up so I’m forced to look at him. “I’m tired of sharing you,” he murmurs, one hand sliding around my waist to hold me tightly against him. “So here’s what you’re going to do for me, pretty girl.”

With a smartass response bubbling to my lips, I open my mouth, just for him to slide his thumb between my teeth and press down against my tongue.

“No, I’m not in the mood for that right now. You’re going to listen, and you’re going to be good for me. Understand?” My shudder must be answer enough, because he strokes over my tongue and purrs a soft approval against my ear. “When I let go of you, you’re going to pull out your phone and text your friends. You’re going to tell them they aren’t your responsibility tonight. That you’re going home with someone. Tell them whatever it takes to make sure they don’t worry. Then you’re going to follow me to my truck, and I’m going to take you home.”

When he finally lets go, I can’t help but nip at his thumb in a way that makes his eyes flash with something both pleased and dangerous.

“And then what?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

Hux’s scarred lips twist into a grin and he leans forward to brush his lips to mine. “And then I make you regret ever being so interesting, little bunny.”

twenty-one

Minutes after I’ve sunk into the big front seat of his truck, the heat under me melts away some of my tension. “Heated seats, huh?” I mutter, my head swimming to remind me I’d had a little too much. “That seems really high maintenance for you.”

Huxley chuckles, turning down a side street to avoid traffic. “I have a pretty physically demanding hobby, pretty girl. Not to mention a physical job as well. Sometimes a guy needs heated seats in his truck.”

I can’t help but grin with my cheek against the cool glass of the window. “Would you really have killed him?” But I don’t look at him as I ask. I just keep my gaze fixed on the street and sidewalk outside. It’s dark and I’m tipsy enough that there’s a slight blur on everything. So when Hux reaches out to grip my thigh lightly, it takes an extra second for me to notice.

When I do, I glance down at his fingers, then up at Hux’s face. He’s not looking at me. Not even as his thumb strokes over my tights and his palm stays warm against my skin. God, I really am pretty fucked up for not being appropriately afraid of him.

I really should snatch his hand off of my leg and be preparing for my grand escape by rolling out the door. I should brainstorm evasive maneuvers and how to fall correctly to minimize road rash while also not getting hit by him or the cars behind him.

But instead here I am, fighting not to place my hand over his and stretch my fingers out along his. It’s a battle I win, narrowly, but I’m so focused on my own self-restraint and the stroke of his thumb along my outer thigh that when he speaks, I jump slightly in surprise.

“Yes.” He says the word simply and without preamble. He says it just so…easily. And for a second, I forget what he’s answering.

Yes, he would’ve killed him,a small voice whispers so helpfully in my brain.He would’ve killed Eric in front of me.

My brain is too full of the sensation of his hand on my thigh to really process what those words mean.

“Would you have enjoyed it?” I don't know why that’s what comes out of my mouth, but I can’t help the way it does. Or that it’s just as casual as the way he’d told me he would’ve killed Eric.

A low chuckle is the answer he gives me straight away. Slowly he drifts to a stop at the next red light, and his fingers squeeze my thigh. “Look at me, pretty girl.”

Slowly, I do, my eyes dragging up to meet his. He’s already grinning, already waiting for my gaze. Almost in approval, he strokes his thumb alongside my thigh. “Yeah, Kai. I would’ve enjoyed it. Probably more than I usually enjoy it, because he was touching what’s mine?—”

“You left.” I cut him off without meaning to, and when his fingers tighten around my leg, I wonder if I’ve fucked up. But thanks to being a little more tipsy than I really should be, I keep going.

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