Page 18 of If You Dare

Wes reaches the elevator doors in a single step. The pressure in my chest eases at his departure.

Until he stops with his hand against the open doors. “I said this is your stop.”

Oh shit.That wasn’t a reminder—it was an order.

The last thing I want to do is go anywhere with Wes.

I grip the handrail behind me. He’ll have to drag me out of here.

When the muscle in his jaw contracts, I know I’ve made a mistake.

He smacks the Stop button and strides for me, scooping me up in his arms so fast, I don’t have a chance to fight him off.

“Put me down!” I hiss.

He carries me like I’m air. Under different circumstances, if that night hadn’t happened, I would be swooning. One of his arms supports my back while the other is hooked under my knees. Like I’m his bride and he’s carrying me to our wedding suite.

Except that night did happen, and I’m not the girl he’s carrying to his bed. I’m his victim, and he’s carrying me to my crime scene.

“I’ll scream,” I warn.

“God, I hope so.” The words come out in a guttural groan that makes me blush. Almost like the thought of me screaming...turns him on.

When he backs into the door to the stairwell with a creak, my heart drops before he dumps me onto the ground. I collide palms first with the unforgiving concrete.

Pain lashes through my hands and knees. But I barely have time to register it before I’m hauled back by my bag onto my feet and pinned against the wall.

My hands are already trembling, but Wes looming in front of me is enough to melt me into a puddle.

“I warned you, Violet.” His distorted voice rakes down my spine like fangs.

“I’m sorry,” I sputter, tears spilling down my cheeks. The words I’ve been aching to say to him for months, but he’s never given me the chance. “I’mso sorry, Wes—”

His hand wraps around my throat in a viper’s death-grip. “Don’t fucking fake-apologize,” he growls.

“I’m not. I swear I am s—”

Wes squeezes tighter, shutting me up. Stopping the flow of oxygen. He could crush my windpipe with one hand. I claw at his arm, trying to pull him off me, but it’s like fighting a tree.

“I could kill you right here. No one would have any idea who did it.” He leans in, the edge of his mask brushing my cheek. His soft breath drifts through the holes to cup my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms. “No one would care.”

Some wild, absolutely insane part of me stirs at his voice in my ear, his hand wrapped around my throat. Adrenaline shoots through my veins as my air is restricted and liquid heat pools between my legs.

I almost think he’s about to kiss me, and if I could catch my breath enough to speak, I’d beg him to. Maybe that brush of our lips would remind him of what it used to be like between us. Before I ruined everything.

But then he squeezes my neck with both hands, the pleasure vanishing as he lifts me off my feet. His hands are my noose. The last thing I’m going to see before I die is Wes Novak’s ice-blue eyes salivating at the light leaving mine.

“You deserve to die for what you did.”

He’s right. I deserve this. If he kills me right here, it’ll be a death I earned.

“Maybe if I kill you, I’ll get acquitted too. I’m sure the judge would understand.”

Just as my vision goes black, the pain pulling me under, Wes releases his grip on me.

My feet hit hard concrete. I gasp for air, clutching at my throat with scraped, bleeding palms, the pain in my hands long forgotten. I don’t know what hurts more—my head or my throat.

I’m unable to run. Unable to move. I’m completely at his mercy as I take ragged breaths, each one tearing through my scorched throat. He squeezed so hard, bruises will appear on my neck by tomorrow. No idea how I’ll explain those to Aneesa.

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