Page 5 of Eden's Deliverance

I am so tired of hearing about Skylar, Skylar, Skylar. If I never heard his name again, I would die happy.

By the time we’ve all finished dessert and coffee, I’m eager to get out of here and share the big news with Penelope. It doesn’t take me long to say my goodbyes to Dad and Gretchen, but I make sure to flash Satan my favorite finger as I walk out the door. He responds in kind with a sly wink and a salute off his temple with two forefingers.

The warm night air feels incredible on my crawling skin.

Through a patch of clouds, the nearly full moon shines on the surrounding trees, illuminating everything around me with an ethereal glow. It’s beautiful, but before I have time to decompress and appreciate it, I freeze just a few steps from my car.

That motherfucker!

I spin towards the house to storm back inside and slap the prick across the head, only to find him standing at the bay window. He’s been watching me already, having a little chuckle at my expense.

In large capital letters, the wordCUNTis carved into my driver’s side door. It’s almost an upgrade for my beat-up Camry and gives her a bit of character, but it’s still completely unwarranted.

I know for a fact I didn’t actually cause any damage to his Audi. Trust me, I checked. I was utterly disappointed—even more so now than before—to find not so much as a dent.

After further inspection, the cuts along my door are clearly much deeper and cleaner than a key would make. He must have used something really sharp like a knife.

Jesus, who is this guy?

Planning to do some damage of my own, I rush to grab my keys from the bottom of my purse. My fingers lose their grip when my enthusiasm gets the better of me, sending the bag and its contents tumbling to the pavement.

My limbs shake furiously when I crouch down to scramble for the loose items, a new sort of hatred bubbling to the surface. I don’t think I’ve ever truly hated someone’s guts like I do now. Apparently, he hasn’t realized yet that I’m not someone to fucking mess with.

Once I’ve found my lanyard, I decide to ignore the rest of my things and go straight for his car. With my house key pinched between my fingers, I press the tip into the flawless red paint of his Audi.

I barely manage to drag the blunt edge an inch before someone grabs my hair at the crown of my head. The intense pressure is so tight on my scalp, I’m forced to stand on my feet so they don’t rip my fucking hair out.

The key slips from my fingers and clatters to the ground when I wrap both of my hands around my assailant’s wrist. I close my eyes as a violent scream rips from my throat, but a hand clamps over my mouth to stifle it almost immediately.

The pain on my scalp sharpens when they pull my hair, forcing my neck to fold backwards as they shove me into the side of my car. When I find the courage to open my eyes again, Skylar is standing there in front of me.

We commence in a rageful staring contest while I puff hot breaths onto his hand, hoping my eyes convey the absolute disdain I feel for him. My head hurts, I’m tired, and it’s all I can do to will my unshed tears not to fall—the fucking psycho would probably get off at the sign of weakness.

“Don’t even think about it, little girl,” he says, removing his hand from my mouth, only to point a finger in my face. Every word spoken seems to merit an exclamatory jab against the bridge of my nose.

It pisses me the fuck off—so much, in fact, that I jump forward to cinch my teeth around his fingertip and bite down.Hard.

I don’t take well to idle threats.

I am so over this piece of shit running around like he can do whatever he wants, consequences be damned. Still, I’m not in the business of severing phalanges, so when he shakes his hand free, I let him go.

Before I know it, his palm cups the underside of my jaw with his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of my cheeks. He looks like he wants to actually murder me. “Try that again, I dare you.”

Fuck, his hand is massive.

I do not have a thin face by any means, and he’s handling me like a stuffed animal trapped in a claw machine. The pressure is becoming almost unbearable, and a tear finally slips free from its prison.

He tilts his head to examine the tiny rivulet, and suddenly, that shit-eating grin is back. “Aw, is little Red crying?” He twists my head to the side, and I feel his wet tongue trailing up my cheek, effectively devouring the teardrop. That seems to satiate him, because he suddenly shoves me to the ground where my purse lies. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

It takes a second to gather my belongings, but when I rear up and turn to face him, he’s leaning against his pretentious car with his arms crossed.

Like he won the battle. Like he’s got power, and I should be afraid of him. Like I should follow his orders, because I’m weak enough to be commanded.

Sorry, Satan. I don’t fucking think so.

Once I’m inside my own car, I take a second to breathe and compose myself before flipping through my music for something epic to set the scene for what I’m about to do. I settle for “I Don’t Give A…” by MISSIO and Zeale, cranking the volume up when the chorus hits.

A spoonful of spiteful medicine keeps the assholes away.

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