Page 6 of Fear Me, Love Me

I check the bullets in my gun. “What, rape a girl in a cemetery?”

I don’t know this Bryn, so either he’s got a grudge against me from afar, or someone told him to get to me through Vivienne. I want to kill these two pieces of trash for thinking they can lay a finger on my girl, but perhaps they can be useful to me instead.

First I want blood. My code means they can’t go unpunished.

“We weren’t going to—”

I fire off four shots in quick succession. Both boys fall forward, clutching their legs and screaming in pain. Later, I might have questions for them about this Bryn. For now, they can tell everyone how Tyrant Mercer killed their friend for hurting his girl.

“Go. Crawl. If I come back and you’re still here, the next bullets will be in your skulls.”

Gasping their thanks, they clumsily army crawl down the path, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

I head back to my car and put the gun in the glove box out of Vivienne’s reach. There’s no need to tempt my beloved into doing something foolish like aiming it at me. Then I nod to Liam to take a walk and get into the back of the Cullinan.

Vivienne is sitting on the broad back seat, her injured arm cradled against her chest. Her dark bangs are falling into her eyes, and the short jacket she was wearing has fallen from her shoulders and is pooling behind her. The ruined cream lace blouse and short pleated skirt emphasize her fragile innocence, but I know how tough my girl is. How dangerously whip-smart.

For a moment, I just take in the sight of her. Hungering for her. When the automatic light overhead goes out, I reach up and turn it on again.

“You spared them,” she whispers.

I didn’t spare them. I ensured that everyone on the streets of Henson will hear about this by morning and understand that Vivienne Stone is Tyrant’s girl. Even looking the wrong way at her is hazardous for your health.

But she can believe I was being merciful if she likes.

I grasp the edge of her sleeve, fingering the torn lace. I recognize one of Vivienne’s creations with a sigh of regret. “You made this, didn’t you? It’s lovely. I’m sorry. Those assholes ruined your beautiful work.”

“It’s just an old curtain,” she mutters.

“No, it’s not.” I reach down beneath the driver’s seat and pull out a first aid kit and set it on the seat next to me. “Give me your arm.” When she doesn’t move, I reach out and gently but firmly pull her arm across my lap.

There’s a gash along the edge of her forearm, not deep, and it hasn’t hit anything vital.

“I don’t think it needs stitches.”

She studies my face. “Are you a doctor now?”

“I’ve been around an injury or two.”

Using a pair of scissors, I cut away the ripped sleeve of her blouse, and then carefully clean the wound and the blood on her arm with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant. Vivienne hisses in pain as it stings her wound, but she lets me do it.

“I know, angel,” I murmur tenderly. “I’m nearly finished.”

I never get to be tender with anyone. Whenever I say the wordsI’m nearly finishedit’s usually because I’m torturing someone to death.

“What do you want?”

I start to wind a bandage around her arm and say with an edge to my voice, “Thank you for saving my life, Tyrant.”

“You’re stalking me,” she accuses. “Everywhere I go, I feel like I’m being watched, and you keep showing up. If it’s not you watching me, then there’s a stranger across the street, hanging around campus, or in the library when I’m trying to study. You’re driving me crazy.”

I’m makinghercrazy? She’s the one who’s so lovely and exquisite, and yet she’s not my wife and she’s not pregnant with my baby.

Yet.

I finish tending to the gash on her arm and secure the bandage. Now she’s all better, I get to hurt her some more.

Leaning closer to her with a glare that has her shrinking away from me, I seethe, “You broke my rules.”

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