Page 48 of Crushed By Love

Inwardly, I know this is a bad idea. It’s not as if I can hide my identity, that the Kings couldn’t find me, couldn’t make me pay for what I’ve done. But outwardly, my hands are shaking and I’d do just about anything to get out of this situation. I hoist the bag out in front of me, step through the door, and quietly close it behind me. Time seems to move in slow motion and I’m even slower. My actions are delayed compared to how I’m playing my next moves out in my mind.

Run. You have to run, Arden.

If I’m lucky a bus will be at the stop when I get there, otherwise I’ll have to go the whole way on foot. I can’t take the bike because I have my suitcase, and also because it’s not mine. I don’t want to get into any more trouble than I’m already in right now. It’s at least five miles to the ferry but it’s better to go on foot than to stay here. What a stupid, terrible plan, but it’s all I have, and it’s a hell of a lot better than facing Ethan.

I’d sprint across the lawn if I could, but the suitcase makes quick movement impossible, so I take a slow and quiet approach instead. Gazing back at the Kings’ mansion one last time as I near the road, I take in the modern grandness of it for the last time. Those two descriptive words shouldn’t go together, but they perfectly describe it. The tan and white house would look normal if it weren’t so massive, if it didn’t have two long wings across three stories and a matching guest house and separate garage, if it wasn’t set on a grassy outstretched lawn, fields on either side instead of close neighbors. If it didn’t overlook the sparkling Atlantic.

In another life, I’d have loved to live somewhere like this, but in this life, I’m shoving this summer so far down into my memory bank that it becomes insignificant.

I hurry away, daring to feel relieved and complete instead of insignificant and afraid. The latter were the two emotions that have shadowed me since I was stranded here.

I’m done. I’m finally done.

Famous last words.

A pair of arms circle my waist and heave me clear off the sidewalk. I scream, dropping the suitcase handle. Ethan’s husky voice is low in my ear, sending warning signals through my body. “Didn’t want to say goodbye?”

“Put me down!” I wriggle in a pathetic attempt to break free, which only presses me closer against his hard body. He doesn’t respond, just turns us around and marches us back towards the house. I try to wedge my elbows into his ribcage, jamming it against him as best I can.

“Your elbows are pointer than they look,” he says with a wince.

“Yeah, well, you’re just as much of an asshole as you look.” It’s a lame retort but he chuckles anyway. Low and wolfish, it rumbles his whole body.

“You have no idea,” he agrees.

“Pretty sure I have an idea.” And that’s when I bite down on his arm as hard as I can. He’s quick to rip it free, slapping a hand over my mouth before I can do it again.

“If you wanted to bite me, all you had to do was ask.” There’s a sexual undertone to his words that send a shiver through my center. I hate him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not affected by him. From day one, I’ve never been more physically attracted to someone as I am to Ethan. His brother is a very close second, but Ethan? Ethan was lust at first sight.

And I hate him even more for it.

He leaves my suitcase on the sidewalk and hauls me in through the front door, right into the living room, tossing me onto the luxury sofa like a sack of potatoes.

I suck on my bottom lip and eye the door, freedom is only steps away but a very big Ethan-shaped obstacle is preventing that from happening.

“Someone could steal my bag,” I argue.

“Nobody around here wants your bag.”

That’s the sad truth.

He leans against the wall and stares down at me. “I wouldn’t try to run away again if I were you.” His calm tone is startling compared to the angry growl from moments ago. And how can he suddenly appear relaxed, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, as if we’re not in the middle of a confrontation? Because I’m not staying here, and I’m not listening to him. I stand up from the couch and take a step toward the door.

“It’s a funny thing, Arden.” His eyes narrow on me as if he knows my deepest darkest secrets. “This house was supposed to be empty.”

“And it will be,” I argue. “There’s a hurricane coming tonight. I won’t be here when it hits and you shouldn’t either.”

“Aw, are you worried about me?” His eyes swirl with a storm of their own. “You’re the one here illegally,” he states dryly.

I swallow hard, scrambling for a different angle to play because I have no idea of the laws for something like this. “You hate Malory,” I state matter-of-factly, using her first name because that’s how he spoke about her before. “And I hate her too. She’s the reason I needed to stay here. Don’t give her the satisfaction of turning me in.”

“So hating my step monster gives you the right to stay on my property?”

I shake my head slowly. “My contract stated I had room and board here until the twenty-fifth of August. She cut it short even though I had nowhere to go. She knew I’d be homeless.” I narrow my eyes. “And you did too.”

There’s no way he already forgotten about caging me in the tiny washroom to grill me with his asinine questions. I still can’t believe I let him see me cry that day, and my cheeks flame at the memory.

“How about we make a deal?” He pushes off the wall and strides forward, standing only inches from me, he leans down close. We’re eye to eye now, but we’re not equals. I’m still on the couch, still sitting here where I don’t belong.

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