Page 31 of Savage Hate
Stupid.
Maybe my mom was right. What the hell am I doing working at a place like this? I’m getting swept up into God knows what, with guys who confuse the hell out of me. I mean, take Jude for example–stoic, quiet, cruel–yet he punched a mirror for me.Becauseof me. He didn’t admit it, but he went right to the bathroom after the confrontation with my mother. He was angry–for me.They act like they hate me, but… after today, I’m not so sure. If they wanted me gone so badly, they would’ve let me go to the Four Seasons with my mom. Instead, they stood up for me.
Like friends.
I shake my head as I let myself into my apartment. Changing quickly, I don’t dare peek at the bandage, instead throwing on a camisole and loose sleep shorts. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and crawl into bed. Just as I pull the covers over myself, there’s a knock at my front door.
A cold sweat breaks out along my skin. Who the hell is knocking on my door at three-thirty in the morning? I stand up and slowly walk to the door. God, I wish I were rich enough for one of those video doorbells. Maybe I will buy myself one if I end up staying here. My heart races inside of my chest, and I sneak a quick peek out of the peephole.
“Silas?” I ask, swinging the door open. “What are you–”
He rushes in, pressing me against the wall behind me. I gasp, but my body explodes with heat as he pins my hands at my sides.Jesus Christ–
“For the record,” he says roughly, the scent of beer on his breath. “I never said you weren’t my type, Lennon Rose.” My name sounds harsh coming from his lips, but in an oddly familiar way. Like that’s the only way he knows how to say my name.
After hating me for fourteen years.
My breathing turns ragged as he presses himself against me–allof himself. Which includes something large and hard against my stomach.
“What I meant was, you’re not really my type, but explain to me why I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you arrived back in Greythorn?” My heart is pounding, and my blood rushes in my eardrums at his admission. “And if the women I have dated are any indication, perhaps Ishouldn’thave a type.” He leans down, his blue eyes twinkling. I inhale sharply when he presses himself against me again. “I’m not thinking about them, though, Lennon. I’m thinking about the leggy blonde who just moved in upstairs,” he breaths, almost angrily. “The one I’m supposed to hate.”
I shake my head. “Silas, I’m–”
He takes a step back, and the cool air where his body once was is startling. I almost reach out for him, but then I think better of it.
“Goodnight, Lennon.” He turns and walks back out through the open door.
eighteen
Lennon
I wake up late the next morning, my brain foggy and my mouth dry. I slowly crawl out of bed, stumbling and nearly falling over before reaching for my dresser to steady myself. The motion makes me wince, and my fingers graze the bandage on my hip bone just as the events of last night flood my mind. First, the tattoo, and then Silas showing up here and admitting he can’t stop thinking about me…
The thoughts cause me to shake my head as I make my way to the bathroom. I grimace as I see my reflection–wild hair, smudged mascara, and as I lift my shirt and lower my shorts, a bandage covering my right hip area. I sigh and splash some water on my face.Why did I get a tattoo? Who am I?I dry my face off and brush my teeth, delaying the inevitable. The clock on my phone says it’s just past eleven, so technically, it hasn’t been a full twelve hours, but the morbid curiosity is almost too much to bear. Once I rinse my mouth out, I reach down and slowly peel the bandage off, holding my breath.
Whore, bully, bitch…
Those are the words I expect to see. It takes me a second to realize what I’m seeing, and at first, I think he must’ve made a mistake. But then realization hits, and I gasp.
The Savage Ink logo, with the words wrapped around a heart, and a knife about to plunge into the heart.
He fuckingbrandedme.
With shaking hands, I twist around and grab my phone and keys. I don’t care that I’m in pajama shorts and a very thin camisole. I don’t bother smoothing my hair or putting on shoes. Instead, I throw my door open and stomp downstairs, turning left when I get outside. Cupping my face against the window of Savage Ink, I see that it’s closed, and no one is inside as I should have expected.
There are a couple of IPA bottles on the coffee table, though, which tells me Silashadbeen drinking last night. I let out an exasperated groan, turning around quickly and nearly falling backwards as I bump into–
“You,” I seethe, looking up at Silas.
He seems surprised to see me, and before he can respond, his eyes narrow as they rove over my chest, and eventually, my exposed lower stomach. It’s obvious the bandage is off now.
“It hasn’t been twelve hours,” he remarks, his voice frustrated and rough.
“Why?” I let out a spiteful laugh and lower my shorts a bit. “I’m not a cow,” I hiss. “You can’t just brand me like swine.” Silas takes a step back and observes me, a cocky smirk on his lips. My chest rises and falls as I take in his aviator sunglasses, denim shirt, and ripped black jeans. I pull my shorts up more and wrap my arms around myself. “It doesn’t make sense. You all hate me–”
“If you really think we ever hated you, you weren’t paying attention.” I let out an annoyed huff, but before I can respond, he chuckles as he walks over and opens the door to Savage Ink. “Actually, I’m pretty sure Jude hated you there for a while.”
I follow him inside and he turns to face me after the door closes. “Is this all a joke to you?” I ask, shoving against his firm chest. “Hire me, humiliate me, and then fuckingmarkme like that–”
