Page 21 of Claiming Sarah

Down, boy.

“N-n-no, that’s alright. How about you take me to my place?—”

“No,” I growl, prowling closer.

“Dayton—”

“You said you’d stay.” My finger jabs at her, the threat implicit. She stays or else. No one will steal her from me. If I have to, I will slit my brothers’ throat to prevent that. Xavier’s woman had her mother long enough. She’s mine now, touching or no touching.

She laughs unexpectedly, and I stumble back. It’s new, cheeks pushed up into her eyes, narrowing them into squints, green sparks shining bright. I want to capture it so I can always remember it.

“You’re being ridiculous. No more kidnapping, remember? We both can go to my place. How’s that?” Her lips remain turned up in a smile, and the urge to kiss it off gnaws at me.

Me at Sarah’s place? Just the two of us? My lips spread into a wicked grin, the edges nearly touching my ears. Sheflinches at witnessing my smile for the first time. I don’t hide it. With Sarah, there will be no more hiding, and I’ll remind her how good it felt with my mouth on her.

She’ll let me touch, or I’ll have to remove the hands of every male with eyes that cross her path. If I can’t touch, neither can they.

SARAH

Holy shit, that smile is wicked creepy, a mimic of the Joker’s, but seeing it in the flesh leaves me with pinpricks of dread. I never liked clowns.

Dayton remains oblivious or chooses to ignore my unease, reaching for my hand to entwine our fingers. I stare at them, roaming over the scars dotting the back of his hand. Armed with the knowledge of the disfigurement of his face, I’m certain he caused the scars on his hand, too.

Sighing, I let him lead me to the front door, reconciling I’m bringing a patient home essentially. Summoning anger over the events that transpired—the kidnapping, the nonconsensual oral—becomes futile. His excitement, the smile he shoots over his shoulder, infects me. It’s contagious.

He’s lonely. And I didn’t miss him never answering me about his mom, but the grief lining his eyes suggests she died recently.

A hand tattooed with a macabre smile and circular eyes fists a key, inserting it into a deadbolt and springing the lock, opening the door to freedom. A warm breeze flies in, ruffling our hair. Sunlight brightens the eyes trained on me, matching the sky.

“No touching.”

I can stick to that. Dayton leads the way, taking two careful steps over the threshold, neck swiveling back and forth in my direction as if reassuring himself I haven’t disappeared.

Separation anxiety. Check.

I’m sure there are many others he’s textbook for, but my fingers itch to look up his medical record now that I know his full name. Shame burns me at keeping his existence to myself. During my call with Lauren, I could tell Xavier drove while she and I spoke, undoubtedly with the Bluetooth on.

Lauren made idle chatter, recounting the events leading up to their trip. I expected anger but only found happiness in her voice. Xavier makes her happy, and I held my tongue about Zaiden’s existence.

Why?

Unbidden, videos I’ve watched concerning re-homing pets flash behind my eyelids. They often take a week off, putting their pet on a schedule and letting them acclimate.

Dayton is not a pet!

But my subconscious hasn’t shifted him out of the animal category. He behaves on instinct and lacks the morality to differentiate between right and wrong. Yet, excitement simmers low in my stomach, knowing I’m taking him home with me.

Like a damn new pet parent.

My feet brush grass, following the path Dayton leads to an aged, pale blue pickup truck. Wordlessly, I let him hold my waist, lifting me into the passenger side of his pickup truck. Once I’m seated, he remains standing near my spread thighs, gazing at me.

Before I have a chance to respond, he brushes a fleeting kiss over my lips, retreating with a smirk. My fingers brush my lips, watching him round the front of the truck to thedriver’s side. Swinging my legs in, I close the door after buckling my seatbelt.

Dayton doesn’t make small talk, for which I’m grateful, the truck roaring to life with a wheeze. His hands draw my eyes, and I watch them with a handful of fascination, wrapping around the gearshift. He reverses the truck with quiet confidence, checking his rearview mirrors, long lashes fanning his cheeks.

My hands shoot to my mouth to ensure drool doesn’t drip off the sides, helpless against the urge to watch him. He’s a walking contradiction, I ruminate, watching trees flank us as he reverses out of a long, winding driveway. My mouth drops open when we reach the road, a wisp of fear embedded in my heart. The driveway was easily five miles long.

If I had escaped, would I have given up before reaching the road? His lips call to me, a small smile curling the long line of scars. He senses the direction of my thoughts but doesn’t comment, driving in silence.

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