Page 29 of Quinlan

“Umm.” I bite the inside of my cheek when the man brings his free hand to the side of my neck.

He pushes us away from the door of the building and shoves me against the wall in the same movement.

Air pushes itself out of my lungs. It burns, burns so bad to stay here, captured by him. The need to touch him transforms into a desire. It hurts my bones, this instant, uncontrollable desire.

“Umm?” He lowers his head. Our lips don’t touch. Our breaths do.

“I’m here to get the mail.”

“Want to get it now? Tell me if there’s anything you’d like me to burn for you?”

A surprised laugh slips past my lips. He’s funny. In a serious, pensive kind of way.

He’s blindsided me.

The realization sobers me. I school my expression. I’m done being a puppet.

“What’s your name?” He owes me that much.

“Liam.” Just a first name. “You?”

Two can play this game. “Quinlan.”

From up close, the scar tissue on his cheek seems sharper. I can tell where the skin is pulled tighter. Where the pink is ashade darker. My heart twitches at how painful it must’ve been, to endure it. Still, it’s not ugly at—

“Oh, I see.” His words are a whip. A slap across the face. “Disgusted by my scar, aren’t you?”

“What?” My eyes widen. I’ve been worried he’d see through me. That he’ll realize I think it only makes him hotter than he already is. Not this. “No. I—”

“You what?”

The hurt on his face is followed by a wall he’s erecting behind his eyes. I’ll have to be honest if I don’t want to offend him. If I want him to stay, I’ll have to say what I absolutely didnotmean to tell a stranger.

Better desperate than superficial jerk.

“I like it.”

The hand around my neck twitches. Restricts my air flow. His expression is of blunt disbelief. Distrust. “You like it.”

Too late to be coy now. “I don’t like how painful it must’ve been for you.”

“Wasn’t too crazy about it myself.” His grip on me tightens. He tips my head up higher. Forces me to stare into his soul.

Testing me.

Searching for pity.

He doesn’t deserve it. He’s strong. He’s proud. He’s still standing, no matter what happened to him.

I don’t pity him one fucking bit.

Liam is silent. Holds me there as his captive.

He won’t let me go unless I give him the whole truth. Good, because I want to tell him the truth. I want to bare my soul to him. It could kill me. I’ll talk anyway.

“It suits you, the scar. Like a tattoo. Nothing repulsive about that.”

“A tattoo,” he muses.

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