Page 140 of Cerulean Truth
Within seconds, I found myself by her side, gripping her arm. She opened her eyes, looking at me in shock. "James?" she squeaked. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"What the hell areyoudoing here?" I hissed, gritting my teeth, but as I studied her face, I noticed something off—she looked weird.
I frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” She breathed out sharply, pulling back her arm.
I narrowed my eyes. Her eyes were unfocused, and her pupils were dilated. Wait, what... was she high on ecstasy?
Holy fuck, was she insane? I had been incessantly warning her about losing control over her emotions, about the potential harm to herself and others, and here she was, taking drugs which would precisely make her lose control over, what was it again?? Oh yeah, her fuckingemotions!
"Are you high on X?" I spat, rage consuming me.
She nodded, displaying no signs of remorse or shame. Seriously, this girl would be the death of me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me Emma, are you fucking insane?” I snarled.
She giggled in response.
She. Giggled.
It took every ounce of self-control not to let my rage-haze, which was rearing its ugly head at full speed, take over. But when I ordered her to leave with me, she shook her head, seemingly oblivious to the gravity of the situation.Motherf…
"I have to feel something, James," she pleaded, desperation lacing her words, "something so overwhelming that I can't shut it out. And ecstasy is…." Her eyes glazed over, the unfinished explanation hanging in the air. Clearly forgetting she broke off her sentence, she chewed her gum ostentatiously, kissed my cheek, hugged me, and danced away.
I blinked three times and stayed behind, baffled. It took me almost a full minute to recover from her unexpected reaction.
Following her quickly through the club, my hand shot out to grab her arm again, the intensity of my grip reflecting the fury churning in my gut.
"You're coming home with me, right now. This isn't the way to figure it out. Every guy in the room is eyeing you.”Seriously, who wears a dress that short in fucking December?
“If anything happens here, you could easily repeat the bathroom incident, or even worse. Is that what you want?" I snapped, my words laced with anger.
Her already wide eyes widened, even more than they already were.
“Emma, I’m not fucking around, you’re in more danger than you know. Just please…” I took in a deep breath, filling my longs with as much oxygen as I could, trying to calm myself down, “I’m saying please. Come home with me.”
I wasn’t begging but the intention was clear. I locked my eyes with hers and tried to convey as much worry and honesty as I could. Whatever she saw in them, finally swayed her and she nodded, albeit reluctantly. Hallelujah.
We moved briskly, exiting the club not even five minutes later, the urgency in our steps matching the turmoil in my mind.
Back outside, a winter’s chill enveloped everything in its icy grasp, biting at exposed skin and turning each breath into a visible cloud.
"Where's your jacket?" I asked, eyeing the goosebumps on her arms and the rest of her scant outfit. It didn't leave much to the imagination, and I suddenly had a very hard time concentrating on the task at hand: Get. Her. Home. I had to actively tell my brain to focus on anything else than her very uncovered body.
"I didn't bring any," she shivered. I muttered a string of curses under my breath, conjuring up a warm jacket of mine which was way too big on her. She stared up at me thankfully, looking too adorable in it. Fuck, this woman and her effect on me.
"Thank you for coming to get me." She moved in closer. Even coming out of a smoky club all sticky and sweaty, she still smelled amazing, and I had to remind myself she wasn't sober. I took a step back, keeping my distance, but my eyes never left hers. Until her gaze shifted to some movement behind me and her eyes widened in angst.
"What?" I asked alarmed as she pointed her finger behind me.
I turned around quickly to find seven military-lookalikes closing in on us. Resistants, possibly Radicals, all staring at Emma and not even glancing at me.
Fuck.
"You're James Walker." Their spokesman declared, still fixating on Emma with an unsettling intensity.
My mind raced, processing the gravity of the situation. Seven hostiles closing in, and they weren't here for a casual chat. Resistants, Radicals—whatever they were, they had their sights set on Emma, and my instincts screamed danger.
