Page 34 of Thorns of Malice

At least, I feel it. I don't know if Dax always pretended or if our chemistry was real for him, but I didn't realize my hatred for Dax wouldn't squash my attraction toward him.

Unless Matt was right, and I was drugged. Maybe that's what's forcing me to feel this way.

No, I felt that the moment I saw Dax.

I wasn't drugged. I couldn't have been.

I was.

No, I wasn't.

As much as Matt urged me to take TimeMarker, I haven't. He even sent me an email with information on it. Yet I can't. Something about knowing the truth is stopping me. It seems like another cruel slap in the face.

Maybe it wouldn't be. Perhaps it'd give me a reason to understand why I am the way I am. But it would make me their victim on another level, and I don't know if I can handle another blow.

A young woman comes up to the table. She's dressed to the nines, dripping in diamonds. A man's next to her. She politely states, "Excuse me, I think you're in our seats."

"Fuck off," Dax barks.

Shock erupts on her expression.

The man states, "Dax?—"

"Go away," he orders, giving the man a threatening glare.

Unhappiness fills the man's expression.

Dax nods to Dyer's table. "Your seats are there, under Dyer's name."

The woman huffs.

The man turns her, and they go to the other table.

Dyer runs his hand under the slit in my dress so it grazes my thigh.

I want to close my eyes and scream, but I don't.

Suck it up,I tell myself, remembering the end game.

Dax stares at Dyer's hand and then leans across me, warning, "If you don't remove your hand from Ivy, I'm having you escorted out of here."

Dyer chuckles but doesn't remove his hand. "Is that so?"

"You want to test me?" Dax challenges.

"She's my date, aren't you, Ivy?" Dyer taunts.

I glance at Dax, offer a tiny smile, and then turn to Dyer, pretending I'm Avery, assuring him, "Of course you're my date."

He cockily questions, "Do you want my hand off you?"

"Don't answer that, Ivy. Take your hand off of her. You have three seconds. Three, two, one." Dax picks up his phone.

Dyer slowly removes his hand, muttering, "Jesus, Dax, get a fucking grip."

Dax points his phone at Dyer. "I'm warning you."

"Why don't we all calm down?" I suggest, putting one hand on Dax's thigh and one on Dyer's.

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