“LET ME GO!” I hit his chest; it’s hard and stone-like. All I manage to do is hurt my fist.
His wide strides cut through the long hallway. Stainless marble and crystal chandeliers decorate the ceiling above us.
After a few moments of useless struggle, I realize I’ll only hurt myself. I huff and opt to choose my battles.
Still, I glare at Asher, letting him know my opinion of what he’s doing. Since he’s wearing the damned sunglasses, I don’t get to see his expression.
I pluck them away.
It’s his turn to throw a quizzical glance in my direction.
“What? We’re indoors. Why the hell are you wearing shades?”
He narrows his eyes the slightest bit but says nothing.
I look behind me, but no one followed us, not even Elizabeth. Maybe they all idolize him like the nurse in the hospital did.
That thought makes me pause.
He gave an extremely positive image at the hospital, and even earlier, he acted like some sort of a doting asshole by offering to carry me.
Am I really the only one who knows how screwed up in the head he is?
“Where’s your engagement ring?” he asks.
“An engagement ring?”
“You heard me, where is it?”
“I…don’t know.” And I really don’t. Now that I think about it, I should have one but I don’t.
Asher says nothing as we go into a large bedroom—scratch that, a princess bedroom. There’s a queen-sized bed with pink and beige sheets and a desk, on top of which sit countless pictures of me in a cheerleading outfit. Said outfit is hanging on the door of an open walk-in closet.
No kidding—it’s a whole walk-in. There are a few plaid skirts, white button-downs, and black jackets, on which there’s a golden symbol. My uniform from high school, I assume.
Private school. Of course I went to a private school. It fits the whole snobbish image.
Reina Ellis.
Captain of the cheerleading squad.
Doesn’t go out without makeup.
Heir to Daddy’s fortune.
And engaged to a jerk who couldn’t care less about me.
I really want to sit down with Old Reina and discuss her options. Surely she could’ve done better.
And yes, I’m judging myself. It’s my only option to vent.
“Let me go, Asher,” I spit out.
He throws me on the bed. I groan as my bruised hipbone hits the mattress.
What the hell? That hurts.
When I glare up at him, he gives me an indecipherable expression and places both his hands in his pockets. “You said to let you go.”
“Why do you hate me so much?” If you do, why the hell are you engaged to me?
“Might have to do with how much of a bitch you are.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I smile. “Did I steal your title, asshole?”
He pauses, head tilting to the side. “What did you just call me?”
“A-S-S-H-O-L-E.” I continue smiling, taunting him. “Do you want me to spell it for you again—”
My words cut off when he’s at my face, kneeling on the bed in front of me. His hand wraps around my throat like a shackle. He’s not squeezing, but the firm grip is enough to restrict my air supply and my thoughts.
A frightening chill forms goosebumps along my skin as I stare at his darkened, merciless eyes.
The sense of bravery I gained a few seconds ago evaporates into thin air. My shoulder blades snap together as if telling me I should be scared.
This is a scary person.
He’s fucking terrifying.
The need to run away from him hits me again, clawing under my skin and pumping in my blood.
“You seem to be taking your amnesia game way too seriously, so let me remind you of how it goes.” His thumb rubs my jaw like a lover’s caress when in fact it’s a Grim Reaper’s kiss.
It’s cold.
Everything about him is freezing.
My pulse roars in my ears like a distant thunderstorm.
He’s invading my space like a natural disaster, impossible to stop or prevent.
Still, I manage to choke words out. “You think this is a game? What type of person pretends to have lost their memories?”
“The type who doesn’t want people to know what they’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?”
“Shhh. Don’t talk.” He presses his thumb to my lips, and I can’t help the pulses taking flight under my skin. “When I speak, you listen.”
Despite the shivers of fear bursting through my system, my temper flares. Who the hell does this asshole think he is?
It takes effort, but I tell him point-blank, “You’re not my keeper, Ash.”
He pauses, and his hold loosens on my throat a little as if I’ve caught him off guard. The lapse lasts for a fraction of a second before his mask is strapped back on his face and his clutch tightens.
“It’s Asher. You don’t call me that. Ever.”
I want to taunt him, but that would be stupid with his hand around my throat this way. I’m seriously starting to think he’s a psycho, and psychos don’t think twice before suffocating their victims.
Or snapping their necks.
“Shouldn’t you be in England?” My vocal cords strain with the effort it takes to say the words. “Alex said you study at Oxford.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not anymore.”
“Not anymore?” What the hell is that supposed to mean? I was only enduring his jerk ways because he’s supposed to fly to another continent.
As if reading my mind, his lips twitch in a smirk as he strokes my jaw with his lean thumb. “I can’t leave my fiancée alone, now can I?”
Screw him to the darkest pits of hell.
We both know that’s not the case. He’s only staying here to torment me and turn my life into a nightmare.
More than he already is.
“Don’t take the help’s side over mine.” All his good—or fake—mood disappears, replaced by a cold, hardened expression. “Is that understood?”
I remain motionless, not uttering a word. If I do, I’ll yell profanities, and then he’ll really choke me to death.
It’s crazy how much his energy seeps under my skin even when I try to chase it away.
It’s like hypnotism.
That’s it—I’m being hypnotized.
He squeezes his thumb against the hollow of my throat. “I said, is that fucking understood?”
“Whatever you say, Ash.” I try to keep the tremors and fear out of my voice by inserting as much sarcasm as I can.
Big mistake.
His hand turns to steel as he squeezes hard. My eyes bulge as my small air supply vanishes.
I claw at his hand, scratching the skin. Just like in the hospital, he doesn’t budge.
The damn psycho is out for my life.
“What was that?” he asks, slightly loosening his hold.
“Asher! Asher!”
He removes his hand, but he doesn’t back off.
I cough, massaging my assaulted throat. “Jeez. It’s just a name.”
He stares at me for a second too long, as if he’s trying to figure out how to deal with me and…failing.
“Cut the crap. Where were you going that night?” he asks in a calm tone, as if he didn’t just attempt to end my life.
“Ever heard of amnesia? It means I don’t remember.” I point at my head. “I don’t even know why the hell I’m with someone like you.”
“You’re not with me.”
Both his hands grip my bare thighs and pull me forward so my legs are on either side of his kneeling position. I yelp then gasp when his hands trail up until they reach the middle of my thighs. I try to escape, but he digs his fingers into my bruises, caging me against him.
“I own you. Every single part of you. You might have tried to escape, but that won’t happen again. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing this time, but I’ll figure it out and you’ll lose like you do every fucking time.”
“I tried to escape?” I ask. “Why?”
From what? Or rather, who? Does it have something to do with Dad’s mafia friends or with Asher or what exactly?
So many questions and no answer whatsoever.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.” He keeps a hand on my thigh, and brings the other to my face, placing his thumb on my lips. It’s still cold like it was at the hospital, but my nerves keep tingling at the sensation.
Asher’s dark eyelashes flutter over his somber gaze like a cloak, impenetrable and harsh. “Open your mouth.”
If he thinks he gets a repeat of what happened at the hospital, then he’s sorely mistaken. I only did that because it was a ploy to have him lower down his guards. Now that he’s demanding it means he’s in control, and I don’t play with an Asher in control. That’ll only mean he’ll devour me alive and leave nothing behind.
“No.” I jut my chin. “I won’t do—”
“Shhh. Don’t talk. When I speak, you listen. When I order, you obey. Now, open that fucking mouth.”
How can he sound so authoritative and controlling when he says that? Is that how he always talks?
The arrogant bastard.
His voice gains a lethal edge. “If you don’t, I’ll make you, and it’ll fucking hurt.”
As if proving a point, his thumb presses on a bruise on my thigh. I cry out as the agony shoots through me; hot and red. He keeps his thumb at my lower lip and doesn’t take advantage of my mouth opening. The asshole isn’t interested in that; he wants me to forfeit.
The pain slowly subsides and I go back to glare at him. He’s playing dirty with my condition.
His thumb strokes around the bruise eliciting a burst of slight comfort, pain, and a promise for more. I have no doubt that he’ll push if I encourage him. It’s like he has no limits.
“That’s nothing compared to what I can do to you, Reina.” His thumb freezes and I do, too. “Are you or are you not going to open that mouth?”
My lips part, slowly but surely. I don’t have the strength to play at his level now. With my injuries and his volatile personality, this can end badly for me. I have enough self-preservation to pick my battles.
He thrusts his thumb between my lips, and it takes everything in me not to bite down.
“Suck.”
It’s one word. One single word but it’s charged with so much intensity, it’s almost a living, breathing being.
He raises one perfect, thick eyebrow. “Do I have to threaten you again?”
Glaring up at him, I suck on his thumb faster than I intend to. My teeth graze his skin and I freeze, thinking he’ll rule it as if I were trying to bite him. When he continues watching me with half-lowered lids, I continue slower this time.
My cheeks heat and I curse myself for giving in this easily. Wait until I’m stronger, I’m going to clash with him headfirst.
“What to do?” He deadpans. “You have a new problem, Reina.”
I peek up at him, stopping.
“Did I tell you to stop?” He cocks his head to the side.
Groaning, I continue sucking the digit and lapping on it with my tongue.
“Your new problem is that you’re too expressive. You’re losing your touch.”
Why is being expressive a problem? I glare up at him so he knows exactly how I feel about him.
I don’t know what he expected, but my reaction is probably not it. Asher narrows his eyes before he pulls his finger out of my mouth. “I’ll find out about that night, and I’ll make you fucking wish you never set foot in the forest.”
“You’re a psycho.” I breathe out, my heart stammering.
It keeps beating and pulsing like crazy, as if it’ll soon stop and is using up all of its energy.
Asher’s lips pull up in a cruel smirk. “It takes one to know one, my ugly monster.”
He keeps calling me that, and I’m starting to think I should embrace that side to fight this particular monster off.
