Page 45 of Fear Me, Love Me

“Tyrant got the knife away from him and stabbed the man in the thigh, right above his knee. Gripping the handle, he forced it into his knee until the man screamed in pain. ‘Say you’re sorry, or I’ll pop your kneecap off and you’ll be crawling for the rest of your life.’

“The man was shaking in pain and staring at the knife embedded in his leg, but he managed a stumbling apology. ‘I’m s-sorry. I won’t do it again.’

“‘Don’t apologize to me, moron. Say you’re sorry to her.’

“The girl in the dripping coral dress was standing on the sidewalk, watching the scene unfold.

“‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

“But it wasn’t enough for Tyrant, and he twisted the knife until the man screamed again. ‘You can do better than that.’

“‘I said I’m sorry!’ the man shrieked.

“Tyrant yanked the knife out and straightened up while the man clutched his leg. It was a blistering hot day, but Tyrant hadn’t even broken a sweat. There was blood all over his hands and dripping from the knife.

“Apparently, Tyrant wasn’t satisfied with the apology, or maybe he still had some anger to work through, because he leaned down, grasped the man’s left ear, and sliced it off in a blur of silver and a spurt of blood.

“The man screamed louder than before, one hand clutched to the side of his head. Tyrant pushed the dripping ear into the man’s mouth, shoving it so deep that he choked.

“‘I won’t remember your face. But I will remember some cunt without an ear. Cross me again, and I’ll break every bone in your body and bury you alive.’

“Then he walked over and gave the other two men the same treatment. The one who was unconscious didn’t notice when Tyrant sliced off his ear, while his friend vomited his up behind him. The one with a bullet in his thigh tried to get up and run, but he fell right back down again as Tyrant loomed closer with the knife.

“‘No, no, n—aah!’

“Schhk.Splat.Tyrant tossed the ear onto the asphalt and then he threw the knife in the other direction.

“Finally, he approached the girl, and the fury on his face melted into concern. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her. She was crying, and he kept his arm tightly around her waist, comforting her with bloodied hands. He put her into his car, and they drove off together.

“I stared after them for a long time. I didn’t even notice the bleeding men limping back to their car and driving away. The way he held her. The way all he cared about was the fact that she was crying. Who was she to him? Who was he to her? If they were on a date, has he kissed her?”

Tyrant meets my gaze over the top of my diary. “How envious you are. Shall I satisfy your curiosity and tell you who she is?”

“That was a lifetime ago. I don’t care who she is.”

His smile widens. “Liar. You cared then, and you care now. I can see it written all over your face.”

Yet Tyrant doesn’t say anything. He’s enjoying the fact that I’m trapped in a hurricane of emotions.

“Her name is Camilla. It was her sixteenth birthday, and I was taking her out to dinner.”

“You were a grown man and dating a sixteen-year-old? Creep.”

“And yet you hoped I would date you. You hoped I would do all kinds of things to you,” he says, his gaze caressing my body.

“You’re disgusting,” I whisper, my nails digging into my palms. At the same time, I’m picturing Tyrant kissing that girl in the coral dress, his hands running over her, fingers pushing possessively into the peachy cleft of her ass.

“Whatever you’re imagining, stop it. Camilla is my sister.”

I blink in surprise. The vision of Tyrant kissing that girl snaps out of existence. His sister? I feel relieved, and then annoyed at myself that I feel any such thing. Not one ounce of that relief, not one whisper of it, better be showing on my face.

“You’re pleased she’s my sister,” Tyrant says with a wicked smile.

“I couldn’t give a damn who she is.”

“You’re a liar, Vivienne,” he says and returns to perusing my diary, trying to find his place.

My blood pressure ratchets up. No more. This can’t go on.

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