Page 6 of Little Nightmare

I flinched and reached for him only to have him jerk away. “That depends on you.”

“I’m celibate,” he’d deadpanned. Why did he sound so bored? “And I’m taken so whatever you plan on doing, it won’t work. Maybe you should return to your party and sober up. Might I suggest drinking water next time? Or some chocolate milk?” His green eyes didn’t flash. They were controlled, focused on me like nothing about me tempted him in any way. I may as well have been a houseplant he was inspecting. I shuddered at the memory, and fresh anger returned right after my physical response. He didn’t have to be so cruel about it.

I think that’s what started my hate. I was young and immature obviously drunk and I had a crush; he could have at least turned me down nicely rather than offering chocolate milk.

Something shifted in my brain that day.

He hadn’t as much as blinked, simply grabbed my clothes, handed them back to me, then went straight to my dad and tattled.

I shoved the memory away and stopped in front of him. I lifted my head. May as well get the torture over with. I was too sad to fight him. “Let’s go.”

Long black eyelashes blinked slowly over light hazel eyes. “After you.”

He didn’t touch me—he never touched people, but you felt him regardless, like the heat from his body couldn’t help but pulse from his fingertips even though he was inches from the small of your back.

An involuntary chill ran through my body as I pushed open the doors of the church and made my way to the waiting limo—one of at least ten parked out front the rest were in the back.

I stopped in front of it expecting him to open the door.

When nothing happened I turned around. He put on a pair of aviators and crooked his finger at me, then pointed. “I drove and they’ll expect you to be in a limo.”

"So?”

He didn’t answer, he simply walked to a waiting black Mercedes and hopped in on his side.

Did he open my door? No.

Did he ask if I was okay? Negative.

Did he offer at least a small smile or condolence? Nada.

I jerked open my own door, sat against the cool black leather and buckled my seatbelt, not that it mattered. My life wasn’t worth much—not without him here. I was living for someone else.

Something bigger than me.

The only thing I had left of him.

Unwanted tears filled my eyes; I was so damn tired of crying. Everyone thought I was just devastated over my bodyguards loss, my boyfriend, my everything.

They had no idea I had another secret.

Ace was already in the passenger seat, settled like this was just another boring day and we weren’t just leaving a funeral. I don’t know what I expected, maybe some sort of condolences, remorse? Something, anything.

Emotion.

I felt weak enough to need some sort of emotion in that moment, even just a long sigh from his general direction would have been mildly helpful.

I clenched my jaw to keep a sob from escaping as he pulled away from the curb. Silence swelled between us like a choking smoke, making it hard for me to take deep breaths.

"Say something,” I finally blurted.

The sound of his blinker clicked three times before he finally whispered in a low voice, “Sorry for your loss.”

That was it. Like a line from a grief pamphlet or something. What else should I have expected from a killer on my dad’s payroll? Flowers?

A teddy bear?

A hug?

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