Page 35 of Unorthodox
That won’t be my life. It can’t be. I’ve…I’ve been there. I’ve lived it. And I’ve seen my father with sex slaves. The only women I ever saw treated worse than I was in my own home.
“No,” I say, and I don’t know if I’m talking to Max, or myself, my mind. “No!” I say it again louder, holding onto the back of the chair so hard, I’m surprised the wood doesn’t splinter in my hands. “No, no,no.”
Without thinking, as if my body is moving of its own accord, my eyes spring open and I grab the chair and hurl it across the room. It skitters against the wood, collides loudly with the wall. Max makes to move around the table, but I move faster, snatching up the steak knife and brandishing it as a weapon.
He still advances, moving toward me like a predator, completely unafraid of his prey.
I back up, nearly stumbling, but right myself by gripping the back of another chair. I shove that one forward, trying to put distance between me and Max, but he knocks it aside and it crashes to the floor.
His expression is terrifying.
It’s empty.
Blank.
I can read nothing from his face, even as I know panic is written all over my own.
I hold the knife out in a shaking hand, then the wall is behind me, and I’m trapped.
Max keeps approaching, stopping about a foot from the knife. He glances at it like one might an annoying fly. A minor inconvenience. Nothing to be concerned about.
I grip the knife tighter in my sweaty hand.
“Put down the knife.”
I shake my head. “Fuck you.”
Max’s rosy lips turn up into a smile, and he looks truly amused. “Such a brave girl.” He steps closer, until the tip of the knife is digging into his shirt.
I glance at it, feel the resistance of his body against my weapon.
“Go ahead,” he says quietly, “stab me, love.”
My arm shakes, my knees, too. I step toward him, feel the resistance grow, see the tip of the blade nearly disappear against the material of his shirt.
His expression doesn’t change.
I think of the scars on his body.
He’s not afraid of me.
No one is ever afraid of me.
“What are you waiting for?” he taunts me, stepping even closer. So close,Igasp, even though he’s the one at the end of the knife.
“Max,” I whisper, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’m asking for. “Max, don’t…”
“Don’t what, Addison?” He reaches for the knife, closes his hand over the blade, squeezing it, hard.
My mouth falls open, a whimper lodged in my throat.
He yanks the knife down, my hand with it, and I can’t stop staring at his palm, waiting for it to bleed. But before I can see it, he pulls the knife from my hand, throws it across the room where it clatters to the floor.
He backs me against the wall, holds his hand over my mouth, dragging it along my lips. I taste the blood, and my own fear.
“The next time you want to threaten me with a knife, love,you better fucking use it.”His fingers knot in my hair, forcing my chin up, my eyes on the ceiling. “The thing about bravery, Addison, is that it walks a fine line with stupidity.” His nose finds my jaw, and I close my eyes, a shiver skating down my spine. “And you just did something very, very stupid.”
I pullthe door to the only soundproof room in my house closed, and turn to Dante, who is watching me with an expression I don’t particularly like.
