Page 61 of Fear Me, Love Me

“Of course, Miss Stone. We’ll be there in five minutes,” Liam says, smoothly turning the wheel.

We pull up outside the dorms, and Vivienne turns toward the door to get out. I pull her back to me.

“One more thing before you go. Give me Lucas’s last name.”

She shakes her head. “Just leave the past buried, please.”

I grab her throat, and I’m not gentle about it, and I seethe in her face. “I said give me his fucking name.”

She squirms against my fingers. “Haven’t you got other things to worry about? What about Dad and his debt?”

“What about everything I just told you? You’re mine, and that means doing as I say, otherwise, I’ll make you very fucking sorry.”

Vivienne swallows hard against my hand. “Lucas Jones. I don’t know where he lives.”

Lucas Jones. Finally. It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know where he lives. If he’s still breathing, I’ll find him, even if he’s left town. I keep hold of Vivienne’s throat and slant my mouth over hers. Good fucking girl. I’ll take care of this asshole, and Vivienne will realize her family is a pathetic waste of space and cut them out of her heart.

If she thinks that anything is over between us, she’s very much mistaken. I own Vivienne Stone, now and forever.

I break the kiss and seethe, “You’re already mine. Don’t you fucking forget it, and don’t break my rules.”

“Or what?” she asks, breathlessly staring into my eyes.

“Try not to find out, angel.”

21

Vivienne

Three weeks have passed since my adventure through Tyrant’s labyrinth, and my life is quiet.

Eerily quiet.

I never feel alone. Is it paranoia, or was Tyrant telling the truth when he said that someone would always be watching me? People are looking at me when I buy groceries. Footsteps follow me on dark streets. Even down here in the empty basement of the library as I attempt to concentrate on an essay, I feel someone’s eyes on the back of my neck.

Last Sunday, I returned home for the first time since Tyrant stole Barlow and I returned him. Samantha didn’t look surprised to see me on the doorstep, but she wasn’t pleased to see me either.

“Please, just let me see Barlow,” I begged her. “You know I’d do anything for my brother.”

Her expression softened, and she relented. “Fine. But don’t stay long.”

I held Barlow in my arms in front of the living room window, bouncing him gently and murmuring soft words. Dad came into the room and stood behind me. I focused on Barlow and pretended not to know anyone was there.

“You have no shame.” His voice was filled with revulsion. Without waiting for me to reply, he walked out of the house and slammed the door behind him. I couldn’t even be angry with him. I felt pathetically grateful that he hadn’t ordered me to get out and never come back.

When I returned to my dorm room, my heart ached so much from Dad and Samantha’s hostility that I went as far as taking out my cutting box. I sat on the floor, clutching the box that contains a blade, antiseptic, and Band-Aids. Holding it tight. Wanting so badly to use it.

I felt Tyrant’s presence all around me, and I knew it was no idle threat that he would do something terrible if he discovered that I’d cut myself. I had his phone number, and I could call him if I wanted to, but that felt dangerous as well. With an aching heart, I put the box out of sight and took out my drawing pad instead.

I drew obsessively for hours. Plants. Statues. Mazes. Tyrant asleep in his bed, as he looked right before I took Barlow and crept out of his house. Drawing calmed me down until I finally passed out on the floor and slept for ten hours straight.

Now, this essay is going nowhere fast. I need to consult a journal article, and I get up from my table and make my way through the stacks. It’s Friday night, and the basement level, with its dusty books and the old microfiche newspaper collection, is totally deserted.

Or so I think.

I’m reaching forThe Journal of Italian Renaissance Studieswhen a large, tattooed hand seizes my wrist. For a moment I stare at it, frozen in shock, feeling warm breath on the back of my neck. Then Tyrant spins me around and pushes me against the bookshelves.

He’s standing over me in all his tattooed beauty, clothed in black with a smirk on those beautiful lips. His velvety voice twines through my senses. “I missed you, angel. Did you miss me?”

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