Page 91 of Soul of a Psycho

“Sky,” he warns, but I just smile and count to three in my head.

Then I bolt.

I’m breathless and giggling as I weave through the foliage. Down, left, right, I run, throwing glances over my shoulder. I can make out the blurs of black against the budding twigs, so I know he’s chasing me, but I expected him to gain on me quicker. Maybe I’m faster than him. I do feel like I’m flying with the way sun warmed dew splashes my arms, and the careless way I let the damp boughs snag my stockings. This is way more fun than getting chased by a lunatic with their face painted. It’s just Cade, and when he catches me, it will be welcome and not full of fear.

“You’re too slow,” I holler, teasing him.

I’m panting, a sheen of sweat coating my skin as I come up on a stream. Ice crystals float lazily, casting rainbow prisms onto the trunks of the trees. It’s beautiful, and I hop over it, hoping to see from the direction of the setting sun. I’m mesmerized and still catching my breath when boots suddenly thud beside me. The journal is pulled from my hand, but I don’t mind.

“Have you seen this before?” I ask, glad he finally caught up. If there’s anything that could cheer him up, it would be this. “It’s so—”

My words are cut as Cade thrusts me against a tree. It’s forceful, not painful, but the knife at my neck has me gulping, breath suddenly catching in my throat. His frenzied gaze is the opposite of playful, and unease creeps into my voice as I struggle to speak without tensing against the blade.

“What are you doing?” I eye his fist, knuckles white around the hilt.

“Did you read it?” he asks, voice steady and resigned despite the fear in his eyes.

It takes a second for my brain to correlate a blade to the neck with the trivial act of reading a journal. The punishment does not fit the crime, and I have to double check that’s what he’s referring to.

“Your journal?” A nervous titter vibrates my throat against the sharp edge.

He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t, and my apprehension twists into aggravation. He ignores all my questions and has the nerve to hold a knife to me? I raise my chin in defiance, refusing to answer him until he answersme. It’s not like he would actually cut me, anyway. This is just his broken way of responding to fear, because that’s what it is; fear. I calm myself down with the fact that he’s just scared that I read his journal, and that this is the only way he knows how to cope with it.

“Sky,” he says my name like it’s condemned. “Did you read it?”

“Yourjournal?” I repeat my question with emphasis, trying not to let his voice break my resolve. His tone is almost pained, with a touch of finality that makes me feel like I’ve already been tried, sentenced, and set for execution. What could he have written that would have him so on edge?

“Please,” he breathes with sudden desperation. “Just tell me.”

I don’t want to give in, not while he’s still holding the knife to a vital artery, but being the cause of anymore agony on his soul saps my determination. There’s something in the little brown book that he thinks will make me see him in a different light. I’m sure of it. But there’s nothing that could skew my opinion of him, and I would never betray his privacy, anyway. I can pick a different hill to die on.

“No,” I say. “I would never,”

I let him stare me down and scan my face, showing him that whatever secrets he wants to keep buried are still unearthed. I swear I see him blink back a well that’s pooled in his eyes as he drops his forehead to mine.

“You promise?” he exhales, lowering the knife.

“I promise.” I sag, relieved even though I know he wouldn’t have hurt me.

I run my hand down his arm, feeling how tense he is, until I reach his wrist and find the hilt of the blade. I have to pry it from his grip, but I know if he really didn’t want me to have it, I wouldn’t be able to take it. I toss it away, into a thicket of bushes, and cup his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, meaning it.

I didn’t think it would bother him that much. I kiss his lips, partly as an apology and partly because I can’t resist. It’s a slow, gentle thing that he leans into, pressing his body against mine.His heart is still pumping rapidly, and he’s coated in a damp sheen that proves just how hard he was running. But for what? He could have an outline to take over the world in that journal and I wouldn’t care, not as long as I still get to be with him.

To taste him.

To marvel at him.

To feel his hand running up my thigh and ripping my stocking.

I gasp as the nylon tears, breaking the serene lull of the stream.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Cade breathes, burying his lips against my neck.

My heart skips a beat. His tone is desperate, lust filled and pleading, but the words… I would hope he doesn’t want to kill me. So why does he sound like he doesn’t have a choice?

“I want you forever,” he continues, kissing down my collarbone. “I want you breathing and whole and alive.” He suddenly cups my butt and lifts me, finding my eyes. “Do you understand? I don’twantto kill you.”

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