Page 22 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

“Fuck you, shithead!”

His smile flees from his face. I would hide, too, if I were his smile. Lord, he has so many wrinkles. The angry lines on his forehead are canyons.

“Tell me you haven’t taken a full tablet after all this time off.” He sneers, crossing his arms over his chest.

I raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Why?”

He scoffs, his eyes blazing with contempt. “Wrong decision. Dr. Rossi had those pills imported specially for you. But you couldn’t resist the urge to disobey, couldn’t you? Fucking spoiled princess.”

My fists clench at my sides. “Princess? Who are you calling princess, jerk?!”

He leans closer, his voice taking a menacing note I know too well. “Careful with your tone, now.” All the times he told me that before simmered on the periphery of my drugged mind.

It’s an absurd illusion, and I want control. I take a deep breath, ready to tell him everything with freedom. A black line encrusted in my wounded woman’s heart. “I don’t love you anymore. You’re just a massive asshole.”

Laughter rises from my chest, making me shake like a leaf caught in a storm. Eric forces me to hold his gaze. Any comic connection disappears as fear creeps into every cell of my being, and I stop breathing. I feel each of his fingers on the delicate skin of my throat. “You need me, princess. Nobody else wants you.”

My resentment erupts without warning and lands on his cheek.

The hand tightens its grip, and he leans into my ear. “Oh, you got feisty.” Then, nothing but his tongue in my mouth. A snake winding its way through my head.

I’m in room seventeen at Dodo-on-the-road. I have nothing to fear from this degenerate Eric illusion. My hand searches for his zipper, and I slam it open.

“I don’t want to come back to Placo Springs! And if I ever do,” I say, taking him in hand. His head falls on my shoulder with a grunt. The grip loosens. “I’ll skin you alive, starting with that piece of crap,” I add and squeeze his cock.

My knee makes a treacherous blow to his masculinity. And I laugh, I laugh so hard.

My laughs thud on the door.

“It’s the maid!” a weary voice yells.

I wake with a start, gasping for air. The last remnants of the nightmare cling to me like a snake coiled around my mind. Nothingbut his tongue in my mouth, I remember, shuddering at the memory. My stomach churns with nausea.

I sit up in bed, trying to shake off the feeling of disgust. The room is light and quiet, except for my ragged breathing.

Skin Eric alive? What the heck?

I take deep breaths, focusing on the present moment, chasing images of a furry Eric-rabbit toilet seat rug.

But fear lingers, seeping into my bones like frost on a window.

“You’re just a massive asshole!”

I would’ve ended up lifeless if I had spoken to Eric this way.

The thuds on the door become insistent, and I drag myself out of bed. I open the door to a woman in her fifties, visibly upset.

“Honey, I have a schedule to keep, so move on.”

I get dressed, run to my car, and speed off.

I only have one pill left. Nightmares about my ex come and go, but this one lingers. Yesterday was clearly too stressful for my fragile nervous system. I head to the pharmacy to refill my prescription and leave as soon as possible. I need to rest in a safe place and take a literal chill pill.

As I stop, my cell phone rings, reminding me that I still haven’t seen a text message I received yesterday morning. I give the prescription to the pharmacist and turn my attention to my phone.

The pharmacist frowns. “I’ll have to make a call. Please wait here.”

“Okay,” I mumble, my attention locked on my phone.

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