Page 36 of Moth
But he doesn’t. Neither does he creep toward my corner to drill in his taunt—and that’s the worst part. I have to endure him, but without the tools I’m used to utilizing. Silence and the safety of my own head don’t work where he’s concerned.
His breathing is too noisy, grating, and raspy. His scent is overpowering, sneaking into my lungs with every inhale. Around him, my thoughts don’t form the protective wall I’m used to hiding behind. They fracture. Splinter.
And he breaks through easily.
“I want to see you hop, bunny,” he murmurs, just when I think I might scream to counteract his presence. “Without the dowdy little sweaters or the boring little mask. I want to prove you wrong. I didn’t run last time. I just gave you a taste. It’s up to you if you want more but with no excuses. No chance to cry assault.”
I bristle at his tone, wrapping my arms around my waist even tighter. If I hope to find comfort in the action, I don’t. His gaze slips beneath the barrier, creeping over me without permission. I can practically feel his gaze rasping along my skin. “What are you talking about?”
“Tonight,” he repeats. “Dragon’s Head. You can even bring your little friend if you want.”
Dragon’s Head.The name conjures the image of neon lights and raucous dancing. “The club?” I frown. “Why would I go there with you?”
He laughs, and his steps resonate along the floor. Alarmed, I turn to watch him move, but he takes his time, giving me every chance to cower and back away.
I don’t recognize the way my breathing hitches as he comes closer. How my nerves tense as he raises his hand, deliberately inching toward my cheek.
“D-Don’t touch me—”
“I have touched you,” he reminds me. “Don’t kid yourself into believing you don’t want more.”
“More of what?” I force myself to meet his gaze only to regret it.
I wish his eyes gleamed in that mocking, cruel way, but their stare is flat and empty. “More of what could happen the next time I have my fingers inside you.”
My hand flies out of its own accord, landing across his cheek.Hard.My gasp is louder than his startled grunt, my eyes widening at the violence—and the swiftness of his reaction.
His free hand cups his smarting cheek, but the other snatches my wrist, wrenching me around. I scramble to brace myself against a bookshelf as he pins my arm against my back. A heartbeat later, he steps in, his breath hot on my throat.
“Not nice, bunny.” There’s no real anger in his voice—a fact that makes me shiver. No. Because he’s too busy sliding his other hand down my thigh and grasping a handful of my skirt. “Let’s cut to the chase. Why I’m really here. I want to hear you say it…” He lets the silence linger, just long enough to have me squirming with anticipation. His pulse is racing, palpable through his fingertips, thrumming through the thin linen of my dress. “You danced around it the other night. Now admit it, you would have let me fuck you on the roof that night.”
He scoffs when I don’t reply. I’m too disgusted to. Horrified.
Because,a part of me taunts,he’s telling the truth.
“Do you need a reminder?” My eyes seem riveted to the contours of his hand, those fingers perpetually stained with ink. They toy with the yellow fabric, daring me to question or scream or fight.
Anything.
I go silent instead, watching as if observing a stranger. This moment… It’s almost like itishappening to someone else. Another woman who doesn’t seem to care as a thug swipes his thumb against her bare thigh. Worse, she bites her lip, alarmed by her own reaction to him. A scream isn’t the sound she’s choking back. A gasp slips out regardless, and he travels higher, dragging up her skirt with every dangerous inch gained.
Higher.
Higher…
“Hannah?” A knock on the door shatters the moment—almost too surreal to be happening. But no. It is. Dazed, I gape at the door, spotting a familiar figure peering through the glass. “Hannah? You in here?”
“I have to go.” I lunge for my bag and trip, landing hard on my knee. The pain has me gritting my teeth, but the stabilizing force on my arm withdraws. When I turn around, he’s already gone, disappearing down the side hall that leads to the back entrance of the store.
“Hannah?” Liam tries the door handle this time.
I stagger to my feet and snatch my bag, practically racing through the door before he can come in. I nearly run into his chest, forcing him to grab my shoulders just to steady me.
“Whoa! Where’s the fire?” He smiles, his expression warm.
I can barely muster up a grin in return, and the expression slips the second I spot a figure melding into the crowd paces ahead. He doesn’t look back, his posture proud, movements leisurely. As if I don’t exist.
Even as his heat still radiates through my skin.
“Hannah?” Liam waves his hand in front of my face until I turn my attention to him. “You ready to go?”
“Y-Yeah.” I lock the shop door and allow him to lead me down the opposite street.
“How about we get out of this neighborhood for a while?” he suggests, and I trip over the curb. The language is distinctly Branden’s. Does it bother me to know that he set this up, weaseling his way into my life even while miles away?
If it does, I can’t tell.
I’m too numb to.
