Page 90 of Wicked Scorn
The door swings wide to reveal the black void within, a cloying wave of icy stale air billowing out to swallow us whole.
There, huddled in the far corner, a shivering lump of fabric that turns itself into the shape of a person as I move closer. A whimper, weak and trembling, escapes those shapeless folds.
“Oakley?” I breathe, daring to hope.
“J-Jerem…” Her voice is little more than a cracked whisper, the breath pluming from her lips in vaporous clouds. “Is it…really you?”
“Yeah, bunny,” I choke out, dropping to my knees in front of her and reaching out with a trembling hand. “It’s me. I’ve got you now.”
She makes a small, wounded noise in the back of her throat, like a broken thing trying to become whole again. Then her fingers are tangling with mine, shockingly cold and fragile in my grip.
“Thought I was…going to die.” Her words are slurred, heavy, and it’s all I can do not to gather her up and crush her against me.
“You’re not going anywhere, you hear me?” I growl, leaning in until our faces are inches apart. I can see the fear swimming in her eyes, the disbelief and relief warring there.
“J-Jeremiah…” It’s half a sob, half a sigh of surrender as she crumples forward into my arms.
Chapter 35
Oakley
“Holy fuck,” he says, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard panic in his voice the way I do now. “Come here,” Jeremiah’s voice is clipped, and I know it’s because he’s worried. My teeth chatter violently, and all I see is rage in his eyes. He moves with purpose, closing the distance between us in quick strides, and he has me in his arms, cradling me against his chest.
“Are you hurt?” His tone is measured, but there’s an edge of urgency. He looks down at my torn dress, but I’ve managed to cover my breast. I know what he’s thinking, and I need to put his mind at ease.
“He didn’t get a chance…” I trail off before telling him, “I’m okay, just cold,” I mutter, feeling the sting of tears I refuse to let fall. “Really fucking cold.”
“Hang on.” His words are a promise, and for a moment, the fear ebbs away, replaced by the certainty that with Jeremiah here, I’ll make it out of this.
“Thanks for coming for me,” I add, attempting another shaky smile. I don’t need to ask him if he’s found Mr. Bryant orif I’m still in any danger. I know with Jeremiah I’m always safe. He’s always got my back. He always shows up.
Without a word, he scoops me up, lifting me effortlessly. My body curls against his chest, seeking out the warmth that radiates from him. His grip is firm yet gentle, holding me tightly against him.
“Of course I did, baby. You called. You’re going to be fine,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
The freezer door closes behind us with a soft thud. Jeremiah’s steps are sure, as he moves us further away from my would-be tomb. I cling to him, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. A chill still bites at my skin, but his presence is all I need.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he says, his voice low and edged with concern. I think that he’s mostly talking to himself, because by the tone of his voice, he’s already made up his mind.
We emerge into a slightly warmer room, the oppressive feeling left behind us. Jeremiah sets me down carefully on what I assume is a tote full of books. I don’t look around. All I want to focus on is the man in front of me. Jeremiah’s hands linger for a moment longer than necessary as they brush down my sides and I lean into him. I need this. I need him. Jeremiah pulls back, his green eyes locking onto mine, seemingly searching for any signs of distress.
“That dress has to go,” he says, already reaching for the hem.
“Excuse me?” I quip, raising an eyebrow despite my shivering.
“Trust me,” he replies, his tone brooking no argument. “I need to get you warm. We’ll deal with everything else later. You’re my priority, bunny.”
He strips the freezing cold dress from my body, his movements quick and almost sterile. But there’s a gentleness there, a carefulness that speaks volumes. As his hoodie envelops me, its scent and warmth seeps into me, chasing everything away.
“Better?” he asks, his hands rubbing my arms briskly to generate heat.
“Much,” I breathe, feeling a flush of gratitude and something deeper, more primal.
“I want you to smell like me, so you'll remember I’m always watching.” And then Jeremiah’s arms are around me, warming me up even more. I need to ask him about Mr. Bryant and if he made it to where he was going before I called him, but I don’t have it in me. I don’t know if my eyelids or arms feel heavier. I feel like I’ve been dragged by a truck, and all I want right now is to crawl into bed, preferably with my boyfriend.
“Did he hurt you anywhere? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Jeremiah finally asks, his large hands sliding down my back and then back up in the most comforting motion.
“No,” I shake my head, trying to steady my racing heart. “Cindy came back and spooked him before he could. And then I guess you showed up.” I lean up, kissing him chastely on the mouth before saying, “Thanks for saving my ass, pretty boy.”
