Page 84 of Prey for You

But all my brain could conjure was my father, rotting away somewhere in a dark cell—and it was like he could see me through the walls. Like he knew where I was and what I was thinking. And he stared at me across the miles.

He’d never fucking let go.

I wanted to punch something. Mostly Sam.

I also wanted to cry—and that made me madder, because I wasnota cryer. But not only did Sam strip away all the numb control I had over my feelings, he’d made mesafe.And thedownside of feeling happily safe was that you were desperately aware when that feeling left you.

The biggest problem right now was that the man who’d give me space to be safe, was the one who’d made me scared.

The logical part of me knew everyone made mistakes. The rational part of my brain insisted that he didn’t do it on purpose—he was trying to help. And ofcourseI should have seen that his first instinct would be to go to the people he knew. That he’d try to fix it—or at least, make it better.

He was a fucking man. And a fuckingDom.Ofcoursehe thought he was the answer to this problem.

I cursed myself for not thinking that through.

But it didn’t take away the fact that, no matter how much I loved him, and no matter how good his intentions were, I now feltmoreafraid than I had when he arrived.

And that was fucking saying something.

You couldn’t step foot outside the house these days without boughs of fucking holly, and jingle-fuck-me-bells. I’d thought I’d do everything online for December so I didn’t have to listen to that music that crawled up my spine like a tarantula—but even Netflix wanted to deck the fucking halls.

It was impossible to escape. And every time I heard that music, or saw red on green, or aho ho ho,my body screamed.

I was fighting it. I even told Gerald that.

In the past I’d gotten through this season by taking off and hiding in places where Christmas didn’t exist. But I couldn’t leave the country this year.

I’d forgotten how obsessed America was with this ridiculous season. Or rather, I hadn’t forgottenthat.I’d forgotten how it felt like claws dragging down my spine tobein this country at this time of year.

Even the creeping cold and damp air was triggering me because it smelled like being on the highway with my father and his bloodstained jacket.

God,I hated this time of year. It made my skin too tight. It made my heart jump and skitter. And for the first time in my life, that scared me. Because I had a reason to stick around now.

Last week at my required assessment, my specialist was grim. He said I needed to find ways to calm down because my resting heart rate and blood pressure were high.

But how the hell was I supposed to make my body stop feeling afraid wheneverythingabout this place reminded me that I almost died at the hands of the man who killed my mother?

A shiver rocked through me and Sam’s hand on top of my head tightened.

Struggling to breathe for all thewrongreasons, I hugged his elbow and kept him there. Having his weight on me felt like a shield between me and that sick world I wanted to avoid—until I remembered him talking to people about my dad and…fuck.

Sam was the best thing that ever happened to me. And even he couldn’t make this stop.

Was I doomed?

That’s how it felt.

And no one understood. Even the man who loved me. Even the man who had some kind of pipeline to God. Evenhedidn’t get it.

I was too broken.

And the worst part was, it wasn’t my fault or his. I knew that. When I could think straight, I knew he carried no blame in this.

If I hadn’t been stupid, I would have grabbed him up when I had the chance, given Jeremy no reason to come for him, and we’d be laying under cabanas in Malta right now.

It was my own fault that he might get slammed back behind bars, which he didn’t deserve.

It was my own fault that he thought he had to try and figure out my father—I put him here, I gave him the letter.

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