I drive my fist against the wall.
Pain explodes all over my knuckles, but it has no importance compared to the ticking in my head.
I’m nearing a cliff, an edge, and that’s dangerous.
My actions turn unpredictable when reality contradicts my desires, and right now, they’re the definition of a disaster.
I inhale deeply, but no amount of heavy breathing chases the black dots lining my vision.
Yet, I force myself to not bolt after Glyndon. Even I have no clue how I’ll react if I catch her right now.
You know what? Fuck it.
I’ve told Glyndon time and again that escaping me isn’t an option. She should’ve erased that thought from her repertoire, but she chose to leave.
She chose to defy me and provoke the devil side she hates so much.
I throw on some clothes, gather Glyn’s stuff, and grab Mom’s car keys. On my way to the garage, I check the app on my phone. The red dot moves at a moderate pace—she’s not walking, but not on a vehicle either.
Looks like my little rabbit has picked up her favorite running habit.
And yes, as promised, I sure as fuck put a tracker on her phone after she ghosted me that time.
I catch up to her after a two-minute drive as she jogs on the side of the road. From behind, the nefarious night devours her small silhouette.
If I were a predator searching for my next prey, she’d be a fucking perfect candidate.
My jaw clenches at the thought of another predator catching sight of her. He’d see how small and weak she is and make the snap decision to pounce.
I hit the brakes harder than needed on the side of the road and fling the door open.
She doesn’t stop to inspect the commotion, doesn’t even seem to be attuned to her surroundings.
One more fucking reason for her to be dragged into the darkness of the surrounding forest.
My parents’ mansion is located in an upper-class, safe neighborhood on the outskirts of New York, but you never know what lurks in the dark.
I jog behind Glyndon, fall in step, then slide in front of her. She crashes straight into my chest and I grab her elbow to keep her from tumbling sideways.
The road’s orange lights cast a warm glow on her drained, tear-streaked face. The usually bright green of her eyes has dimmed, becoming as lifeless as that first time I saw her on that cliff.
Upon seeing me, she flings herself backward and slaps my hand away.
My fingers twitch to strangle the fuck out of her, but I have a feeling it’ll have the exact opposite effect of what I intend.
I grind my teeth. “That’s the second and final time you push me away, are we clear?”
She starts to bypass me, but I block her path, my voice lowering. “Are we fucking clear?”
“Fuck you. You have been playing with my emotions all this time, knowing full well what type of relationship Devlin and I had.”
“Relationship?” It takes effort not to shake the fuck out of her. “That’s an overstatement. You knew him for maybe two months max before his death. The only reason you felt close to him is because he fed into your insecurities, made you feel like you’re some kindred soul and blah fucking blah. He was manipulating your stupid empathy and had a field day with it. I still can’t figure out why, but I know manipulation when I see it.”
“Oh, because you’re the best at it?” Fresh tears cascade down her cheeks, and I wish I could take them away, but if I touch her, she’ll hit my hand or push me, and I’ll turn into an unhinged animal.
So I tap my finger against my thigh, summoning patience I don’t have. “So what if I’m the best at it? That should be a compliment.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Her voice raises. “You’re not even offering excuses for what you said. Instead, you’re pulling a classic you move by projecting the blame onto someone else. That someone is now dead and reached that point thanks to you.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“You might as well have had!” Her whole body shakes with the force of her words. “Do you not see how much your words could be cutting to someone in a depressive, suicidal state?”
“He was neither depressive nor suicidal. That slimy fuck might have fooled you, but he’d never be able to fool me.”
Her lips tremble. “You’ll never change, will you? Instead of admitting it, you’re deflecting the blame.”
“Instead of being rational, you’re being fucking emotional, Glyndon.”
“Sorry for not being a robot like you!”
“Watch it,” I grit out. “It might not look like it but I’m pissed the fuck off right now, and I’m holding myself back. Barely. So quit pushing me. I mean it.”
Her shoulders hunch as her chin quivers and her hands ball into fists. “I want to go home. To London.”
“How were you planning to do that? By running all the way? You didn’t even take your fucking passport or bag.”
She purses her lips. “I can call Grandpa.”
“Before or after someone attacks you in the middle of the night? You don’t even know the States or New York. What, and I can’t stress this enough, the fuck is going on in your head?”
“I want to get away from you.” The deadpan in her voice scratches on my sanity. “Just leave me alone.”
“No can do. Get in the car.”
“No.”
“You can either go nicely or not so nicely.”
“I don’t want to see your face right now, Killian,” she murmurs and hits her chest. “It hurts. Right here. And if you keep forcing me, I’ll throw myself from the car.”
The tapping of my fingers turns up in intensity, but I stop myself from throwing her over my shoulder.
I told her I’d never let her have those suicidal thoughts again, but in this instant, I’m triggering them.
And while this could be the anger talking, I don’t want to see her act on those emotions.
Not now. Not ever.
“Get in the car,” I repeat with enough tension to detonate a country.
“I said—”
“I know what you fucking said. I’ll drive you to the private jet and instruct the pilot to take you back to London.”
“You…really will let me go back alone?”
“I don’t want to, but I will.”
Because for the first time, I hate the way she’s looking at me. It’s not fear nor is it annoyance or defiance.
It’s disgust mixed with anger.
And I’m not ready to find out if she’ll act on her threat.
I’ll just give her some time to cool down before following after.
She eyes me suspiciously, but she climbs into the car.
During the whole ride, she crosses her arms and stares through the window, refusing to say a word.
I don’t provoke her either, letting her have all the space she needs.
Once she’s done with her tantrum, she’ll pay back in full.
We wait an hour until the jet and the crew are ready. During the whole time, she puts earbuds in her ears and ignores my existence.
I come close to murder so many times in the span of one hour, which is more than at any other time in my life.
Glyndon doesn’t look at me as she ascends the plane, seeming to have forgotten about her fear of flights.
After I make sure the crew would protect her with their lives, I begrudgingly descend and watch as the plane takes her away.
I slam my fist against the side of the car.
That does nothing to expel the rage seeping through my veins.
Time to purge it using the fucker who sent her that video.
