Page 58 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

His jaw tightens, a flicker of something – anger? Frustration? – passing across his face. I watch him run his hand through his hair, letting out a huge sigh as he did.

“Get in the car and let me take you to class.”

I stand there, frozen, my mind racing as I process the possessiveness in his voice, the way he claims me with those words like I’m some extension of himself. Every instinct is telling me to walk away, to not let him reduce my life, my happiness, to something he can own and control. But the look in his eyes, the way he seems to be fighting some internal battle, keeps me rooted in place.

I take a steadying breath, fighting to keep my voice calm even as my throat tightens. I throw a quick glance at Cassidy, who’s watching us with a mix of concern and fascination. Her presence is grounding, a reminder that I have a life beyond Thatcher—a life with friends, people who care about me, a world that doesn’t revolve around this mess.

I turn back to him. “The reason I wanted to keep this a secret is because I don’t want people to find out about what’s going on, about that night. I just want to be able to pretend that nothing happened that night. But if you keep on doing this…I can’t…” I pause and suck in a calming breath. “I can’t pretend. I can’t forget. You’re making it harder for me to go back to my normal life with all the attention we’re drawing by being together in public.”

Thatcher’s sudden shift in demeanor catches me completely off guard, my heart dropping as the air around us seems to thicken. The arrogant, teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something far darker. His eyes are no longer filled with amusement or condescension. They’re cold, calculating, as if he’s made some kind of decision, and I’m the one who’s in the crosshairs.

“You want to keep this a secret? You want to forget?” His voice is lower now, laced with something dangerous, something sinister that I hadn’t seen before. “Newsflash, Dove. You can’t. You can’t keep me a secret, the same way you can’t pretend none of this is happening. You can’t ever go back to your normal life before all this.”

The weight of his words hits me with a force I wasn’t prepared for. I can barely move, the anger from earlier turning to a kind of paralyzing fear, a pit that opens up in my stomach. I stand frozen, unable to tear my eyes from his. His gaze is unnerving now, so intense that I feel like I’m being pulled into a dark vortex, and I can’t look away.

He leans in just a little closer, his breath warm on my face, and I shudder. “You can’t keep me a secret, Dove. Not when I can end you so easily.”

My pulse races, each word a punch to the gut. My body goes cold, my throat tight, and for a split second, the world around me feels like it’s closing in.

And then his next words, even more chilling, cut through everything. “I wonder what your friend is thinking right now. Wouldn’t she like to know the truth? Wouldn’t she like to know that her roommate is a cold-blooded killer?” He gestures behind me, to Cassidy, who’s standing motionless, her wide eyes flicking from me to Thatcher, confusion etched on her face.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. His words twist and coil around me like a noose, and every part of me wants to flee, to get away from this nightmare. He’s not just playing games anymore. He’s threatening me, and the weight of that sinks into my bones.

The darkness in his eyes intensifies, and I can almost feel the pressure in the air, as if it’s suffocating me. “You wouldn’t want her to find out now, would you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it feels like a thunderclap. I can hear the venom in his words, the threat thick in every syllable. “You can have your secrets, baby, but I won’t be one of them, understand?”

My heart pounds in my chest as his presence becomes a weight I can’t shake. The air is heavy, oppressive, and I want to break free from it, but his gaze holds me in place, a prisoner to his anger, to whatever twisted power he thinks he holds over me.

I feel my eyes well up with unshed tears, the threat of losing everything I hold dear hanging in the balance. I can’t let him see how much this is affecting me. I won’t give him that satisfaction. I fight to steady my breathing, to keep the tears at bay, to stop the tremble in my hands.

His voice drops to a cold, final command. “Then, shut your pretty mouth, get into the fucking car, and let me take you to class.”

I want to resist, to stand my ground, but something about the finality in his voice, the power in his words, paralyzes me. I want to scream, to tell him to leave, to make him go away. But in that moment, all I can do is swallow the lump in my throat and let out shakily, “You’re a monster.”

He smirks, his eyes still swirling with that frightening darkness. His arm lifts and I feel his hand wrap loosely around my throat, his thumb brushing my bottom lip as he whispers, “I never said I was an angel, Dove.”

Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I watch his eyes flick down to my lips momentarily, heat filling his gaze before he drops his hand and sidesteps me, moving towards Cassidy. As he passes me, I hear him. “Get in the car.”

Reluctantly, my feet move, guided by the overwhelming pressure in the air. Each step feels heavier, my body betraying me as I head toward the car and settle in the passenger seat.

I try not to look behind me, although I could hear them talking, the light tones of their conversation reaching me. I try not to let the fear show, especially to Cass as she slides into the back seat a few minutes after, an oblivious smile on her face.

But I can’t hide the way my hands are shaking when Thatcher sits beside me and places his hand on my thigh, a bright smile on his face.

“So, shall we ladies?”

I stare straight ahead, feeling Thatcher’s hand burning into my thigh. My pulse thuds in my ears, drowning out Cass’s chatter from the back seat. She’s oblivious, smiling and excited about the ride, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or furious about her not picking up on the tension here. My whole body’s on edge,ready to snap, but I force myself to stay composed, not letting my hands betray me by gripping the seat.

I bite back the urge to pull away, knowing that any sudden movement will only make things worse.

Just breathe, I tell myself, keeping my gaze fixed out the window. It’s only a ride.

The second the car comes to a stop outside the campus building, I practically throw the door open and step out, breathing in the cool, fresh air like it’s a lifeline. Without sparing a glance back, I head straight for the entrance, my steps quick and purposeful. I need distance, a moment without Thatcher’s suffocating presence pressing down on me.

“Rhea!” Cassidy’s voice calls out from somewhere behind me, but I don’t stop. I pretend not to hear her, making a beeline toward the building, the urge to disappear into the crowd of students pushing me forward.

Footsteps sound behind me — heavier, quicker than Cassidy’s. My stomach twists. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him.

“Dove.” His voice, low and unmistakable, sends a shiver down my spine. It’s closer than I expect. I grit my teeth, quickening my pace, but it’s futile. Thatcher catches up easily, his hand reaching out to grasp mine.

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