Page 14 of Catching His Runaway

“Too stubborn for your own good, you know that?” Narrowing his eyes, he doesn’t hesitate to back me into a tree, or reach out to grab me. Hissing when I scratch him in my poor attempt to get away, his hands move to grab my sides.

Tommy doesn’t let his hands linger for long. He runs his hands along my front pockets, huffing from impatience when they’re empty. Without a second thought, his hands slide back to cup my ass.

Letting out a cry of frustration, my skin warms from embarrassment.

This man should not have his hands anywhere near my body, nor should I know what it feels to be cornered by him.

His entire front vibrates in approval when he finds what he is looking for. As if he needs to rub my face in it, he pulls away with my keyring around his finger.

“You are the worst.” Shoving past him, I try to force my blush away. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going anywhere.

Out of every man I could’ve gotten stuck with, why did it have to be this guy?

“Let’s go.” Opening up the driver’s side, his nose scrunches when he sees how cluttered the back seat is. “Have you been living in this thing?”

Opening the door to the passenger side, I shove the contents of the seat on top of the clothes piled up in the back. Choosing not to answer, I hear him mutter his unwanted opinion before crushing my belongings by shoving the seat back.

I hate him. I hate him so much.

The drive back is short and silent. While I have enough clothes to get me through a week or two, Tommy keeps my keys tucked into his pocket once we get back.

Bastard.

6

Valeria

Tommy doesn’t help me carry anything inside, but he’s happy to make sure I don’t claim one of the rooms that is empty. He insists on keeping me close where he can keep his eyes on me at all times. Unfortunately, it’s in my old room.

His room, I guess.

“Can I have a few hangers, at least? I don’t want to hear you complaining about a pile collecting in the corner.” Dropping everything in my arms onto the bed, I hope the smell of blood that’s radiating in this room doesn’t seep into the fabric of my clothes.

Whatisthat smell, anyway?

I don’t think I actually want to know. Not too fond of the smell.

Tommy motions to his closet, his position against the wall remaining unchanged. Looking like he doesn’t want to lift a finger and help at all, he goes far as to smirk when I huff under my breath.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you. You want something, you can get it.” He crosses his arms over his chest and goes as far as smirking at me. “You’re no longer in a position to get things handed to you.”

I want to hit him. Just one good punch. Even if his face is hard and I break my hand, I don’t care. It’ll be so worth it.

“Thanks.” Forcing out the word, I stride toward the closet and yank open the doors.

The smell of blood? Yeah, it’s right in here. He’s got dirty clothes thrown on the floor, crusted over with a layer of dark crimson.

My grip on the handle grows tight as I’m hit with the smell head-on. As the scent of iron floods my senses, my heart skips. The smell makes my head spin and my stomach tighten. The food I’d just eaten threatens to come back up.

The stench of death at its source.

Fear wraps itself like fingers in a tight grip around my lungs. Fingers covered in thick-band rings with mismatching jewels. For a few seconds, I forget how to breathe, and those cruel fingers might as well be around my throat, too, suffocating me.

“It’s just a little blood, Valeria.”

Like Elijah is right behind me, I can hear those words sent mocking at me as he whispers them like sweet nothings into my ear.

Flinching, I jerk back to see Tommy is still staring at me. His smirk is no longer on his lips, and his brows are lowered. “What? Change your mind?”

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