Page 101 of Freckles

An impossible question, but my instinct is probably not.

It wasn’t like Kincaid ever hid his possessive streak or that he wanted me by his side in the cafeteria. With all that’s happened in the past few weeks, I don’t believe he would ever have cut me. It was just an empty threat to control the situation and get his preferred outcome. He’s been shameless at using every tool in his arsenal.

The crowd at the game roars, signalling the team is jogging onto the field, which begs a new question. “Why aren’t you at the game?”

He appears utterly perplexed. “Because I needed to tell you and thought—”

“Bullshit. You kept this a secret and let me spend every day in Kincaid’s company when you could easily have told me without him knowing. We’re in two classes for Christ’s sake. If you’re concerned now, it’s only because it suits you.” I take a step closer, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Did you fuck up and get kicked off the team?”

His thunderous expression tells me the truth, and I’m done.

“Save your crocodile tears. We’re not friends any longer, Aidan. Considering your priorities, I don’t think we ever were.”

I get into my car, locking the doors when he stands in place. I only came here to get the rug, but under Aidan’s glare, I decide to go home to dress in something warmer. The unexpected confrontation has driven every sexy thought from my brain. With the mood killed, to sit in the stands, wearing what I am, would be uncomfortable. Even dirty.

I’m deep in thought when I pull into the driveway, thinking over everything Aidan revealed. Turned so far inward, the shadow in the corner of my eye doesn’t register.

Not until a man jumps into the back seat of the car, grabs my seatbelt from the holder, and wraps it around my neck, pulling the heavy nylon tight against my windpipe.

My pulse spikes. I claw at the strap, nails catching my skin as I try to loosen it enough to breathe.

“Put your hands down.”

The voice is distorted through a modulator, the low digital rumble enough to make my skin crawl.

My attacker wears a thick balaclava, and for one horrifying moment, I think it’s Kincaid’s uncle, but a glance in the rearview mirror shows me this guy is far too small and slender.

When he sees me watching, he releases the strap.

I gulp in a breath, then blurt, “You don’t want to fuck with me. Hurt me in any way, and my boyfriend will make sure you don’t wake up tomorrow.”

Instead of acting threatened, the man laughs, the voice distorter squealing with feedback. He turns it off and lets go of the strap, pressing something sharp to my throat. “Is that any way to talk to the man who tried to help you dispose of your freezer?”

Even without the explanation, I recognise his voice.

The mask and unexpected attack are still frightening, but at least I know who he is.

“And although I commend you on the lovely performance, considering what you asked me to do the last time we spoke, I wouldn’t be quite so sure anyone’s coming to your defence.”

My pulse accelerates. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure.” He gives another laugh, the sound devoid of any humour.

“What do you want?”

“Just a little help, my dear. Nice car.” I risk another glance at the rearview mirror and the blade looks like a scalpel. The type of weapon that could slice through my artery with the tiniest flick of his wrist.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“About your new friend.” He tilts his head. “Looks like he’s showering you with riches.”

I give a small nod, wary of too much movement.

“I wouldn’t mind benefitting from your relationship, too. You can help an old friend out with a few secrets, can’t you?”

“You didn’t even do the job I paid you for. There’s no way I’m handing you secrets.”

He shifts and the blade moves from my neck. I lunge for the door again, but he grabs my hair, yanking me back so hard my scalp screeches in protest.

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