Page 91 of Wolf

Feeling as I do now, I can’t imagine how it would go if he cast me aside, which is inevitable. Eventually, he’ll tire of me, and then who will I be?

I’ll have morphed from Reverend Abernathy’s daughter to Wolf Castro’s cast off.

This is for the best, I try to convince myself but the tiny, desperate voice in my head reminds me that Wolf is the man who showed me freedom.

“What happened, Lilli? You fucking disappeared. I searched everywhere and you show up at school?” Wolf says.

Guilt claws at my throat but I don’t know what to say. Sorry? He’s going to hate me before this is over with and I don’t know how I will live with it.

“Oh,” I say because I’m so confused.

“Oh? Fucking, oh?” he growls, grabbing my chin.

I stare into his achingly beautiful eyes and pull away. If I’m lucky, if I say nothing, maybe the sheriff will give up.

My family will be safe. I’ll be safe.

“Look,” I say, licking my lips. “I had to go.”

“You had to go?” His eyes light with fire and he presses me against the brick wall.

Clutching the crumbling clay beneath my fingers, I summon my meanest tone and say, “You were right. I don’t belong there.”

His brows furrow and he presses his hand on the wall beside my head. “Is that right? You think you can just walk away?”

Averting my gaze because I don’t want to see his eyes when I lie, I say, “You said it yourself. You’re a murderer. Your hands are dirty. You’re…dirty.”

There’s a moment of silence before he grabs my chin and says, “You didn’t care about my dirty fucking hands when they were inside you.”

I shiver, I can’t help it as every glorious moment that haunts me in my dreams rises to the surface.

His eyes flash and I say, desperate to find the right words, “You’re right. It was…” Everything.

Clearing my throat, I continue, “Fun. But I can’t imagine my life with someone like you.”

My chest burns at the partial lie because what I really can’t imagine is him ultimately picking me.

When I can’t bear the silence a moment longer, I look up and flinch. His gray eyes are a wasteland of emotion I can’t define.

He raises his brow and touches my cheek before his fingers slide down to my neck and brush over my hammering pulse.

Gasping, I grab his hand, but he shakes me off and says, “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m-I’m not,” I lie, and he cocks his head.

“So…what? I’m supposed to believe that I was your dirty fuck. Is that right?”

“I…” I don’t know because just saying those words sends a pulse of pain through my chest and I can’t catch my breath.

When he drops his hand, I suck in a breath, frozen. Is he leaving?

“Wait!” I gasp, reaching for him.

He turns, meeting my gaze and I say, “Please.”

“What?” he mutters. “You want this?”

He grabs his crotch with a filthy grin but it’s the desperation behind his eyes that inspires me to nod.

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