Page 23 of Rogue
Paris
The door flies open and angrily rebounds off the wall. I curse and dive to the floor onto my stomach, grabbing the rope as I go down.
I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can’t believe who Hayden’s sent for me. Holy sweet mother Mary, I’m in deep, deep trouble.
He’s fast, throwing his weight on top of me, his big muscular body pinning my belly into the carpet. I elbow him in the kidney—a knee-jerk response. Someone grunts . . . hell, maybe both of us do. Twisting and turning, I take advantage of the moment to lasso his long, beautiful neck with the noose I’ve made. Quickly, I slide the knots and tighten the rope around his throat.
He slams his chest into my back but his movements only pull the rope tighter.
“Don’t make me do it,” I yell into the carpet.
Oh my God. Holy sweet hell.
Jaxson.
He’s alive? I try drawing air into my lungs. Halt my hands from shaking and my heart from breaking. All. Over. Again.
Nine months of agony. Pain. Heartache.
“Two can play at that game, you deceitful bitch.” He yanks my scarf, lifting me by the neck off the carpet with my own faux-Burberry knockoff now cutting sharply into my throat.
“You’re not dead,” I manage to choke out.
“Alive and breathing, no thanks to you,” he gasps. “Time to pay the piper, you traitor.”
I want to protest, to explain what happened and why, but the scarf cuts off my words. His actions are upsetting enough. Yet the fact that not only does he not believe in me but seems hell-bent on killing me pisses me off to the point I can’t think straight. So I react on instinct, rolling slightly to the right and using my body weight to further close the noose around his neck. It’s a choke out. Loser loses all.
Winnerloses all. Yeah, I’ve been down that road to heartache before.
Bucking up from beneath him, I attempt to rid myself of his muscular weight. I gyrate my ass, back and forth, up and down, trying to dislodge him from my back.
Then I feel it. Him. His hard-on.
I freeze, midgyration.
God. Oh God. His bodyfeelsfamiliar, his weight, his warmth. Time suddenly seems stagnant. My agony, my regrets jumble together in a mixed bag of emotions. Anger. Fear. Love. Pain . . . so much pain.
How I miss your lazy smile.
You deep inside me.
Our battles. Our love.
Without a care for consequences,
it was just you and me.
Jaxson. Oh Jaxson.
Blackness creeps in. I can’t breathe.
I love you.
Always.
The scarf falls limp around my neck. Followed by Jaxson, who goes limp against my back.
“No. No. NO!” I wiggle out from beneath his deadweight, my litany ofnos spurring me on, desperately loosening the rope on his neck. It takes three tries for me to flip him over; each second that passes feel like a year.
