Page 25 of Let Me
But the most important question of all is,Why the fuck am I letting him?
His back muscles shift beneath his crisp white shirt and people part for him, women ogling him, and he pulls me outside, past the bouncer who says nothing, and into the streets. I remember that Benji owns a bar. Shade. It’s not too far from this one. These thugs probably all know him, and Caden.
We keep going, me being strung along behind him, and then he turns into an alley and my breath catches, just a moment, as I think about the guys from the night before.
But this is Caden.
I let him pull me in.
He pushes my back against the wall, his hands on either side of me, trapping me. He’s glaring down at me, breathing hard, and there’s murder in his eyes. I think, really, that as much as he wants me, he wants to kill me, too.
I don’t know if I blame him.
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask, but it comes out like a gasp.
He’s panting, his eyes on my lips. “What the fuck wereyoudoing?”
“I was…I was dancing. Why are you even…” I shake my head, trying to think through the rum in my veins. “Why are you even here?”
“I told you to get the fuck out of this city—”
“I don’t listen very well,” I interrupt, and then his hand is grazing my jaw.
“You don’t, do you?” he murmurs, leaning in closer to me. His hand trails down my throat, stopping above my collarbone. “You don’t listen at all.”
I swallow, and he smiles at that, but it isn’t a warm smile. It’s cold. Chilling. I shiver under his hand.
“Let me go,” I say. But I’m not even sure I mean it. I’m not sure Iwanthim to let me go.
He doesn’t, as if he knows.
“Who was that?” he asks, and I know he’s referring to the guy in the club.
I feel my face warm when I say, “I don’t know. I just met him.” I know what he’s thinking. I know he’s wondering if I would make another video with him. I know he’s probably calling me aslutand a thousand other things in his head. He never really cared how many men a woman fucked. I heard him say as much with Benji. It’s the video, it’s who he thinks sent it to Jack. I know he’s thinking these things, but I don’t look away. I don’t move.
His fingers curl around my throat. He leans closer, his mouth hovering over mine. He smells like vodka and mint. It’s a familiar scent. He smelled like that, before. On that night. As if maybe if he got drunk, he could forget about how wrong it was. How wrong we were. But then he got to blame me for that, too, anyway. He might hate himself for wanting me, but he hates me a little more.
“You just met him?” he repeats, cutting off my thoughts. His voice is flat. But no, not quite flat. Angry.
“What’s it to you?” I ask, trying to feign an anger I don’t quite feel. Because seeing him like this, his eyes dilated, his nostrils flaring just a little, it reminds me of that night, too. How close we were. It wasn’t gentle. I never wanted it to be. I was still angry then. He seemed angry, too. Because, wrong or not,wewere always angry. Maybe for different reasons, but always the same emotion coursing through our veins. It linked us. As much as he interfered with Jack and me, I noticed it. It wasn’t because he thought he was a hero. It was because he was always pissed. Just like I was. Just like Jack was. Fuck, we were fucked up.
But then he moves his hand from my throat, and he takes a step back, and I feel the rush of cool air where his body was.
“Nothing,” he says, throwing up his hands, finally answering my question. “Nothing, Riley. It’s nothing to me who you spread your legs for anymore.”
I step away from the wall, angry all over again. “And, what? You’ve been celibate these past three years? I’m sure you were being hunted down back there.” I jerk my head toward the club.
A smile plays on his lips. Still cold. “Hunted down?” he asks quietly.
I just shake my head.
“What if I had been?” he presses, coming close once again. But I can’t think with him here. He’s too close, and he smells so damn good. His eyes are blue and beautiful, and his jaw is clenched and he’s freshly shaven. A lock of wavy, dark blonde hair falls over his brow.
This is stupid. This is fucked up.
“I’m leaving.” I turn to go, ready to walk back to the stupid condo and go to bed alone, again, and not think about Caden or Adam or Rolland or any stupid fucking boy in my life.
But he grabs my arm and spins me around, pulling me to his chest. My fingers splay against his shirt, catching myself. I don’t move. Not for a long, long while. I just tip my head back and stare up at him, but what I see staring back makes me feel like less than nothing. Like an actual, honest-to-God murderer and not a girl who just couldn’t stand up for herself.
