Page 18 of Red Flag Bull

I’m going to sue my fucking doctor. He said my cholesterol was excellent and I have the heart of a man in his twenties, but here it is, about to fail on me. Fucking quack.

Fucking Amanda Warren.

Poisonous little retch. I’ve tried for twenty years to get her out of my system, and now she’s trying to dose me again. My fingers are fucking tingling from her effect already. They’re just itching to strangle her.

I take a calming breath and take note of exactly where the security cameras are.

Clever girl has placed herself perfectly. Did she mean to fall asleep? Had she planned to jump from the shadows and startle me? And did she assume I’d be lenient, either way?

I step around the pillar and crouch in front of her. What’s the best way to approach this situation? I’ve drained my tanks twice tonight, but my cock is hard again from my considering her possible punishments. Now that she’s here in the flesh, she’ll need to repent multiple times, before I cut her loose.

If she tried to make an appointment to see me, I would have punished her by not showing up, but she’d know that much. Hence the sneaky rendezvous attempt at my bike.

Wisely or unwisely, she’s put herself in my hands.

I reach for her throat, and careful to support her body so I don’t damage her larynx, I yank her off the ground, and pin her to the concrete pillar before she’s alert. It doesn’t take her long to figure out who’s got her once she’s wide awake, though.

She makes her eyes grow round, large, and glassy, before she flutters her dark lashes like a doe-eyed little harlot, because she knows her sad, pretty eyes make me fucking weak.

I give her a short, sharp shake. “What the fuck are you doing here, Amanda?”

8

MANDI

Amanda.

Not Princess. Not Mandi.

Amanda.

He may as well call me Hank. Or Ms. Warren. Oh, that one may work for me… as long as he’s choking me when he says it.

A little tremor of delight runs through me, and he narrows his eyes.

He backs off and lowers me to the ground, making sure I’m steady on my feet before he turns his back to me and walks away.

“Jason…”

He pauses where he is, and then shakes his head. “No.”

He resumes walking, picks up a plain black backpack from the ground, and swings it onto his back before reaching for his helmet.

“Jason, I…”

I… what? Didn’t mean to hurt you?

Nothing I can say will change the past. The man has probably hated me for the last nineteen years. I’m probably lucky he didn’t choke me for real. I felt the control he used to not strangle me. Something he once did seamlessly was frayed and fraught with effort moments ago.

“Go home, Amanda. It’s never going to be how it was.”

He doesn’t even bother to face me before he pulls his helmet on — part of the punishment I’ve earned, I guess.

I used to adore gazing upon his face, memorizing every tiny scar, setting the tip of my pinkie finger into his hidden dimple, and counting the ginger strands in his beard while he denied their existence.

“I’ll be sorry about that until my last breath,” I declare loudly, hoping he’ll hear me.

If he does, he chooses to ignore me, because he starts his bike, kicks up his stand, and rides away.

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