Page 28 of Uprising

But the dude doesn’t even flinch or falter. A huff falls from his mouth; reaching forward, he smacks my hand away like it's a freaking fly.

Without a word he leans forward and grabs my shoulder. I blame the lack of oxygen in my brain for not kneeing him in the balls when he drags me towards him. Or scratch his eyes out.

“Ass—”

“You need to watch that mouth of yours, pretty boy.” Reed doesn’t give me a chance to say anything back before he’s fisting my hair and yanking my head back roughly. It also could be that my brain short-circuits around him calling me a pretty boy. I don’t think straight men just go around calling other boys pretty.

“Let me go,” I grit out. I feel too exposed, as if he’s reading me like a book. His eyes shift around my face, reading me.

“Now why would I do that?” Reed whispers. His fist tightens in my hair; my scalp stings from his grip.

“I’ll kill you,” I hissed. I know for a fact I won’t. Reed isn’t stupid enough, but if I had a mini breakdown because I killed an already dead person. I can’t imagine what kind of mess I would be in if I were to try to kill a living one, let alone Reed.

“What’s wrong, Noah? You’re obviously begging for attention; you’re nearly drooling at the mouth for it.”

I hate him.

I hate that he’s right.

I hate that he’s picking me apart and hitting the fucking nail on the head. I swallow, not missing when Reed’s eyes drop to my exposed neck. He knows what he’s doing to me. He can see every little detail on my face. I’ve never been good at hiding what I feel. And he knows it.

Suddenly I’m being spun around, my back hitting his chest as my hands are pinned behind me. My face hits the mirror; my hips lay against the sink. I go limp as I realize I’m bent over the sink.

“When I agreed to let you tag along, I didn’t realize I would be bringing a brat along. One that needs so much attention, one that begs for it,” he says, his voice low. I swear I stop breathing; everything inside my body freezes when I feel his hand touch the bottom of my shirt. I don’t move when the faint touch of his fingertips hits my stomach. Reed’s hand travels up past my stomach until he reaches my nipple. I’m already painfully hard, so I don’t even realize I’m trying to create some friction against the sink before he twists my nipple.

“AH, fuck!” I cry out. Pain shoots across my chest to my stomach.

“Hmm,” he hums, too close to my neck. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps, a tingle at the base of my spine.

“Fuck you,” I barely manage to get out.

“I did tell you the next time I caught you staring at my cock, I was going to bend you over and make you take it.”

He said…Oh shit. Of course he didn’t tell me he was going to kill me. And I freaked out for nothing. Shame washes over me, almost enough that my cock softens.

“I thought you were going to kill me,” I find myself mumbling.

“Hmm. There's more than just one way to kill someone,” Reed utters. He suddenly lets go of my hands and steps away. Humiliation hits me like a freight train, enough that I want to die right here.

What did I just get myself into?

CHAPTER17

Reed

My cock throbs painfully against my zipper. I have half a brain cell to go back into the bathroom and tell him to fix the problem he created. But I don’t. I force my feet to carry me back out to the main area.

I had no plans to touch him when I walked in there. Truthfully I was getting worried; he had been in there for longer than I liked. While I knew I should have left him alone to deal with his feelings, I couldn’t just stand here staring at the wall any longer.

But one touch, and I find myself craving more. Even if he’s a little shit, one that talks a big game but doesn’t have anything to back it up with. His smart mouth is going to be the death of me. After a few days stuck with him, I am ready to throw out every rule that I made for myself.

But I can’t.

I have a job, one job. Get to Georgia and hopefully find Ghost and his girl there. Prove to him I’m not like the others, that I’m still me, and pray he doesn’t kill me on the spot. I don’t need to worry myself to death with Noah; I don’t need to concern myself with him. He’s trouble, a walking disaster. I need to keep my hands to myself.

I reach the welcome center desk and unzip my bag. Pulling out a can of SpaghettiOs, I flick my knife open and begin cutting the can open. I’m so focused on opening the can I don’t hear Noah until he’s standing on the other side of the desk, watching me.

“Hi,” Noah says, his voice weak and uncertain.

---