Page 4 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Get in the tent, Myla.”

“I don’t know any other way to say this, but fuck all the way off, Cian.”

He didn’t even bother to reply before wrestling me into the tent and onto the sleeping bag.

“What the hell are you doing?” I screeched quietly; way too aware of the sounds of people in the tents around us. Some of them werenotsleeping.

“I’m fuckin’ beat,” he replied, letting go of me to zip the tent closed again. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

I gaped at him.

“Sleep it off,” he ordered, lying down on the ground with his head propped against his duffel bag.

“I might murder you,” I muttered conversationally. “I mean, I’m sure my brothers know where to hide a body.”

Cian huffed and closed his eyes.

“I’m not staying in here,” I announced, reaching for the door.

“Not gonna be happy if you touch that zipper,” he said, his eyes still closed.

“Like I give a shit,” I snapped.

My hand got within an inch of the zipper when I was gently tossed back onto the sleeping bag.

“Quit it,” I hissed, smacking at his head and shoulders.

“Jesus Christ,” he ground out, pinning my hands. “I’m fuckin’tired, Myla. Go to sleep.”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because you’re a dick!”

“And?”

“And I’m pissed at you!”

“Congratulations. I’m pissed at you, too. That it?”

“I don’t know why I ever wanted to be with you,” I ground out, so angry I wanted to scream. “You’re an asshole.”

“Right,” he said with a sigh, like he was done with my shit. “You done?”

I could feel tears stinging the backs of my eyes, but I refused to cry. I’d never been so frustrated in my life. At any other moment, I would’ve been ecstatic that I was laying in Cian’s arms, his face barely visible in the dark, but the fear that I hadn’t felt when that random guy wouldn’t take no for an answer was finally hitting me hard. Cian was being a dick, and I needed some privacy to get my shit together.

And there was no privacy in that goddamn tent.

“Just let me go find my bed,” I whispered, letting my body relax against his hold. “There has to be at least twenty boys from the club around us right now. I’m totally safe.”

“You got no clue where your tent is,” he replied, his voice as low as mine. He rolled to his side and gently brushed my hair away from my face. “Is it really that bad to sleep in here?”

“I’d rather sleep in my own sleeping bag.”

“Mine’s clean.”

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