Page 64 of The Boy from Half Moon

“Or what?”

I grabbed him by the balls, squeezing hard, backing him to the kitchen island while his face pinched in anguish. The more he tried to pull my hand away, the harder I twisted. “How about if you don’t, you’ll find yourself unable to produce children? Does that answer your or what question?” I leaned into his face and whispered angrily. “You don’t scare me, Alec. You’re a fucking creep is what you are, and you need to back the fuck up before I show you what I’m actually capable of.”

Alec had both of his hands wrapped around my wrist as he tried tugging me off of his nuts. “Let me go, Tate,” he hissed.

“Keep pulling away, asshole,” I replied. “This doesn’t get better for you.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he gasped; his face contorted like a circus freak’s. “Fucking let go or I’ll fire your ass,” he said, his face fractured by pain.

I laughed in his face. “‘You’ll fire me?’” I asked incredulously. “That’s rich.”

“I mean it, Tate.”

“Too fucking late, asswipe. Like I’d work for you after this crap. Just because you went bat-shit crazy on other employees you wanted to fuck doesn’t mean I’ll put up with your shit.”

Alec quickly moved a hand to my neck, catching me off guard when he shoved me against the refrigerator. He leaned into my face. “Who told you that?” he hissed, spittle hitting my face as he frothed like a rabid dog. “That shit was hearsay.”

I could barely breathe, let alone respond to his question. My boss was choking the life out of me, his face resembling a psychopath’s. I must’ve turned purple from lack of air because he stepped back, releasing me. “Jesus! What the fuck?” I gasped, shoving him further away. “Get out of my house!” I yelled, motioning toward the door.

I bent over, clutching my neck as I fought for breath. Panic had set up shop on my nerves after wondering if this man was capable of murdering me. Tyler said Alec had been beaten up by a former love interest when he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was a freak-show, and I couldn’t just let this be.

Alec moved toward me again. “Shit! I’m sorry, Tate. I didn’t mean that,” he apologized, pawing at me. “Please forgive my behavior. I’m just jealous, is all.”

I held my hand up to him. “I’m okay. Please, just leave.”

“Please don’t quit your job,” he pleaded. “Of course, you have every right, but I swear to you I will stay out of your business. I promise. Just please don’t quit.”

I couldn’t believe his plea. The man had just assaulted me, in my home, no less. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “This was crossing a line, Alec, and I do not deserve this behavior.”

“My father will remove me from the firm if he hears about this,” he said. “You just can’t report me. Please, Tate. Please.”

“Whatever, okay then,” I stated, motioning toward the door. “Please, just leave.”

Alec reached for my hand, but I jerked back, shaking my head, motioning yet again toward the door. “Okay. Okay,” he whispered, scurrying for the door like the rat he was. He stopped halfway to the door and turned back to me, his mouth about to form words. I slowly shook my head. He took the hint and exited.

I slid down the front of the fridge as I sank to the floor, arms crossed and hugging myself. He’d promised he’d leave me alone. So far from what I’d experienced, I had little reason to believe he’d keep his promise.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: Luke

The center of the compound was quiet when I darted across the expansive graveled area. Once I made it to the main hall, I stood in the dark against the building, looking for any signs of life. Sure that I was alone, I tried a door into the kitchen, looking for access to a phone.

Surprisingly, the door was unlocked, and I slipped inside, catching the time as half-past ten on the large wall clock. I worried that calling Tate this late would upset him, but I was desperate to see him.

Since our date the night before, I could not get him out of my mind. He was everywhere in my head as I relived kissing him. Holding Tate in my arms ignited something in me I couldn’t suppress, no matter how hard I tried.

Pulling his business card from my pocket, I reached for a phone that was only used to call outside suppliers, and nervously dialed his number. At three rings, I lifted my hand to hang up just as his voice came over the receiver.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, Tate,” I whispered.

“Luke? Are you okay?” he asked. “Why are you whispering?”

“I’m on a phone I’m not allowed to use,” I replied. “I miss you, Tate. I’m hurting and sick to my stomach.”

“You’re sick?” he asked.

“I don’t know what it is,” I said. “I’m thinking about you all the time and it hurts inside when I do.”

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