Page 28 of Bleeding Blackheart

Blackheart puts the menu down and laces his fingers together, playing with the silver ring on his right ring finger. “I just feel like going.”

I roll my eyes when he leans in closer to me. “I’m not fucking around. I honestly just feel like going. I’ve wanted to go, and it’s on the way.”

I lean closer too, just so I can rest on my hands. “It’s nice. I’ve been.”

He runs his thumb down my forearm over my bandages. “Why was your father after you, Montana? Why does Mason Barnes want his only child dead?”

I lean back right when the waiter comes up to the table, feeling nauseous at the mention of my father’s name again. There are lots of reasons why my father wants me dead. He’s threatened to kill me since I was sixteen. But what made him snap was me leaving. I just couldn’t do what he wanted me to. Not anymore. And telling him no was my biggest mistake.

A middle-aged woman asks Blackheart what we want to eat, and he orders two burgers with fries and and two cookies and cream milkshakes.

I look up at our waitress Anne and shake my head. “I don’t need a milkshake. Thank you.”

She nods her head and walks away while my fake boyfriend glares at me. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Do what?”

He looks around, making sure no one can hear us. “Don’t defy me. If I say something, don’t pipe in and speak over me.”

Is he serious? I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “You’re kidding, right?”

He cracks his knuckles. “Not in the slightest.”

Something ticks inside me, and I want to make him feel as little as he makes me feel. “Is this the kind of boyfriend you were to Margaret? Were you a dick who bossed her around and made her serve you like a prisoner?”

His eyes blaze and he rolls back his shoulders. “Keep her name out of your mouth.”

I do kick his shin under the table this time, knowing he won’t retaliate in public. “Keep yours in check when you’re fucking talking to me. I may be your prisoner but I’m not your bitch and you’re going to quit treating me like shit or I’m gonna really show you how fucking difficult I can be.”

By the time I close my mouth, my heart is rattling, and I hold my hands under the table so he can’t see them shaking. His eyes widen, but not in anger. He almost looks . . . shocked.

He looks out the window and shakes his head. “She would’ve liked you.” His eyes meet mine again, and I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. We just have a silent staring contest with neither one of us surrendering until the food arrives.

I’m served first, and I eat quietly while he watches me. I try to ignore it, but I can’t. “Got a problem, pal?”

The prettiest shade of red floods his cheeks, and he tightens his lips before starting on his own food.

Despite him starting after me, we finish at the same time, and then his milkshake is brought out.

I should’ve never canceled mine.

His pink lips wrap around the straw, and his throat bobs while he swallows the yummy concoction.

He seems lost in his own world until he groans and rolls his eyes. “You could’ve had your own, Montana.”

My own face heats and I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t want any.”

He places the cup in front of me. “You get on my goddamn nerves.”

I shove the glass back at him, nearly toppling it over. “You make me nauseous.”

He shoves it back harder, keeping his grip around it this time. “Montana, drink some of the fucking shake.”

I grit my teeth. “What the hell did I tell you about speaking to me?”

He curses under his breath and loosens his grip. “I’d like for you to have some of my milkshake, Montana.”

I take the glass out of his hand and bring it to my lips. “That’s better.”

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