Page 37 of Together We Burn
“Daddy kink.” Alex winked, and I shuddered.
“And secondly, ever since seeing that image on Google pointing out that one of his front teeth is in the middle of his face, I cannot unsee that shit. Even if I did find him good looking, that has been burned into my brain.”
Alex laughed, jumping back around to face the TV and resuming his film. It wasn’t like I could concentrate anyway. This back and forth between vengeful Stevie; the one who wanted to cut out Jake’s large intestine and strangle him with it, and the more forgiving Stevie; a side I didn’t even think existed, was exhausting.
The forgiving one had clearly teamed up with slutty Stevie, who just wanted to wrap her legs around Jake every time she saw him, and therefore could see nothing wrong in picking up where we’d left off. Those two were fucking morons and needed to be tied up and thrown in a dark hole, never to be heard from again.
I needed a drink. Anything to quieten the little angel-devil pair sitting on my shoulder.
The bottle of Bourbon Jake had left in my car sat untouched on the counter in the kitchen. With little hesitation, I tucked it under my arm, foregoing a glass, deciding I could drown myself in Bourbon in the bathtub.
Fumbling with the lid as I walked up the stairs, my phone went off again. Growling, I cradled the bottle to my chest and snatched my phone.
“Stop calling me,” I answered, then immediately hung up and powered it down. Walking past my room, I threw it onto my bed and then pulled the cork stopper from the neck of the bottle.
The smooth chocolate notes slid down my throat and coated my insides in warmth as it continued to my stomach.
Drinking on an empty stomach was maybe not a good idea, especially as the Bourbon conjured images associated with Jake. A dark navy Dolce & Gabbana suit, dancing in a ballroom, and the first time he kissed me, all rapidly flooded my mind.
I gulped another mouthful of Michter’s, wishing for the burn cheap alcohol usually provided.
Vengeful Stevie growled in my head as I swallowed. How did I not see the red flags even from then? He spotted me as I stood on the balcony like he expected me to be there.
Because he did expect you to be there.
Slamming the glass bottle on the side of the bath harder than I intended, I poured in my expensive bubble bath and turned on the hot water. The strong scent of lavender rose with the steam as I waited for the water to fill the tub.
I paced the two steps back and forth between the tub and the sink while my agitation bubbled to the surface. Without thought, I balled my hand and smashed it against the tiled wall.
“Fuck,” I cursed, cradling my throbbing fist and breathing through the pain. “You fucking idiot.”
I internally chastised and slowly flexed my fingers, thankful they weren’t broken. But there was a gash along two knuckles.
Swiping away the specks of blood, I leaned over the bath to turn on the cold tap, letting it run while I went back to my room to grab a towel and my Kindle.
Being bed-bound with not much to do the weeks following myaccident–I wasn’t fucking calling it an abduction or kidnapping–gave me loads of time to read, opening me up to a world of romance novels I never knew I needed.
Nearly two hours later and several top-ups with the hot water, I was enthralled in my Kindle. This super angsty forbidden romance between two stepbrothers was the absolute shit, and I couldn’t put it down. Why this got banned a few days after being released was beyond me. Love is love and the book was fiction. But now I was pruny, and the bath bubbles had long gone, meaning I had to get out.
Drying myself, I tugged on my bathrobe, wrapping the towel around my head, then brushed my teeth. Wiping the condensation off the mirror, I pulled open the robe to check my ribs like I had done every night since I was able to get out of bed. The bruises had long gone, and the pain was so minimal that it hardly registered, but at times I swear I could still feel the impact of Jake's punches.
Or perhaps I liked to imagine them, force myself to remember why it was wrong to have all this unwanted lust and pent-up frustration as soon as we were in the same room.
Turning off the light, I went back to my bedroom, Kindle and Bourbon in one hand, and pulled the towel from my hair with the other, tossing it in the hamper and letting my bathrobe drop to the bedroom floor. I sat the quarter-drunk bottle on the chest of drawers as I grabbed a set of pyjamas and slid them over my body.
Movement from the corner of my eye had me reaching back into the drawer for a blade. I spun on my heel and tossed the knife, sending it flying across the room to land deep in the doorway.
Jake turned his head, eyeing the knife bouncing in the wood, directly in line with his throat.
“Jesus, Jake,” I said, putting a hand on my heart, and the other slowly slid back into my pantie drawer, looking for another knife. Jake pulled the blade out from the frame with a sharp tug and walked toward me, his lips curved up at the edges and his dark eyes raking up and down my body with every step.
“What are you doing here?” I sneered, my hand rifling through the soft material of my underwear and coming up blank. Where the hell were my knives? The one I threw was part of a set of three, so where the hell were the other two?
Answering my unspoken question, Jake held up the knives, adding the one I’d tried to impale him with to the others. The hint of a smile expanded as I stood gaping.
“Did you raid my pantie drawer?” I asked, annoyance thick in my voice as I tried to mask my surprise that he knew where to find my weapons. “You are many things, Jake, but I didn’t peg you for a creep.”
He still didn’t speak, and it was becoming infuriating. Instead, stopping short of pressing his body against me, he slid his arm under the one that I had awkwardly angled inside the drawer, ensuring his forearm grazed my skin as he slid my knives back into their home.
