Page 24 of Under Fyre

Moving fast, I come around the table and grab her arm just above the elbow.

“Hey!” She struggles briefly, but the moment she catches sight of my eyes, she goes quiet.

Unresisting, she lets me drag her down the hall and shove her back inside her room. I slam the door, lock it, and then hurry down the hall to mine.

I open my closet and stare up at the black shopping bag, then slam the door closed again.

Too soon.

Way too fucking soon.

I force my breathing to even out, and then go into my bathroom. There are two bottles of cologne on the counter, one half used, the other new.

Popping open the new one, I smell it. Wrinkle my nose.

Expensive stuff, but God it stinks. Greasy leather and disinfectant pine. Peter wore it so he could feel like more of a man.

Peter did many things so he could feel like a man. Most of them just proved how much of a fucking animal he truly was.

I need another cold shower. And then I need to change my clothes.

I truly hope Charlotte wasn’t lying. That she did indeed have a good night’s rest.

Because this…this is going to be brutal.

Chapter Twelve

Charlotte

I’m still biting my nails when I hear Fyre walking down the hall. I took a chance asking him if I could leave my room, but it was worth it.

Now I know where the back door is. I know where he keeps the keys—right next to Arrow’s leash. And I learned something about Fyre. He revealed a tiny slice of his life to me. It’s probably useless information, but that’s not the point. He opened up to me, if just a little.

Can I get him to do it again?

And does that mean he’s starting to trust me? He keeps demanding that I trust him. It’s a two-way street, right?

Fyre opens the door, and immediately I know something is different. It’s the way he’s holding himself, stiff, almost awkward. Not as if he’s nervous, but as if he’s…careful.

Then he steps deeper into the room, and his smell hits me.

The panic attack comes out of nowhere. I’ve never had one hit me this fast before. One minute I’m perched on the edge of the bed, nibbling on a nail. The next I can’t breathe.

If I hadn’t long ago been diagnosed with anxiety, if a doctor hadn’t explained that what I’m experiencing is an anxiety attack, I’d be convinced I’m having a heart attack.

It’s what I imagine one would feel like.

Tingling in hands and feet. A sharp pain in my chest. Lungs frozen, breath shallow.

Fyre rushes over, his dark eyes creased with concern. He crouches in front of me, ducking his head so he can look up into my eyes.

“Charlotte?”

I can’t even speak. But I manage to grab his wrist when he puts his hands on my knees, and I dig in with my nails.

“You are safe,” he tells me. “Nothing can harm you.”

His words don’t mean shit.

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