Page 50 of Vicious Punks
Damn it. It was just one small, little itty bitty lap dance. So why does he care?
* * *
“Get over it!You don’t get to talk about me, or to me, that way and get away with it.” I poke at Logan’s chest as we stand in his driveway, matching him glare for glare.
“Get over it? Get over it?!” he shouts at me with anger coloring his tone, his face flushed as his honey eyes darken.
This is the first time I’ve actually seen him use a real emotion, he always seems to hide from everyone else so he appears calm and collected. Anger is a good thing, it’s what makes us human. It shows we actually are passionate about something, care enough that we release that pent up emotion just to feel better. Wait… why is he angry at me? I’m not the one who brought Paris along and tried to make a point by flaunting her in front of everyone.
“Yeah, I’m just going to, well, uh, go make us some food before we drive to the warehouse… how about you go get that paint off, princess?” Dalton rubs the back of his neck, watching as Logan and I just stand there glaring at each other. “Alright then.”
Dalton whistles as he walks into the dark house, heading towards the kitchen, and disappears around the corner. I continue to stand here with my arms crossed, enjoying the way he actually looks uncomfortable as he shuffles and clears his throat. I’m waiting for any excuse for hurting me to come out of Logan’s stupid mouth. I’ve had enough of his back and forth games. I should just tell him the truth, who my father is and why I’m here but I don’t want that pity look to be directed at me. I’d rather he think I’m here to ruin his life, it makes it easier.
“Why are you so frustrating?” I grumble under my breath, shaking my head in annoyance, and head into the house without looking back because I’m done with his shit.
“We aren’t done talking, baby girl,” he growls as he follows behind me, matching me step for step up the stairs, right on my heels.
“Logan, I swear to God, I’m going to cut off your precious, big penis while you're sleeping and stuff it in your mouth if you don’t leave me alone right now. I’m so tired of this. Go see your perfect Paris, and leave me alone.” I’m at my breaking point, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry.
I want to cry for hours, days, maybe even years. To take back what’s mine, to let it all out until I’m gasping for breath. My hands shake as I fling my bedroom door open and head towards the bathroom to wash off the itchy, cracking paint.
“Are you jealous?” I can hear the smile in his voice, the tone making my shoulders hunch in embarrassment.
He grabs my wrist and spins me around, into his arms, not letting go, even as I pound on his chest. He raises my chin with his index finger so I have no choice but to stare into his honey eyes that always seem to know what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling.
“You are,” he says with a sigh and tugs me closer, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. “I had to check, Tillie. To see if he recognized you. I can’t let Dom know that you're mine. But it’s too late now. I couldn’t have it both ways. I had no choice but to bring you, so I thought someone disposable would do as a stand in. Paris means nothing to me and she never will.”
“What?” Even to my own ears, I hear the surprise in my voice, wondering if I’m hearing things… There's no way he really wants me without acting like I’m an object.
He runs a hand through his brown hair and steps back to start pacing, muttering to himself until he stops in front of me again as he comes to some sort of conclusion.
“I need to know why you're here. You just need to tell me… I’m losing my mind thinking about you all the time and I shouldn’t when you could be my downfall,” he rasps out, running a finger down my cheek as he stares intensely into my eyes.
“No. You don’t get to say that. You're playing with my emotions and it’s messing with my head!” I knock his hand away, my fingers tangle in my hair as I try not to scream in frustration, “What do you want, Logan! What?!” I’ve had enough, if he wants to keep playing this game then I’m done holding back because my body constantly gravitates towards him.
No more. I’ll go full force at him until he’s begging for forgiveness.
“I want you! Just you, but I can’t trust-I don’t know who to trust.” He stares up at the ceiling in clear frustration as he takes a deep breath before he glances down at me. He reaches out to grab my wrist, but I knock his hand out of the way before he can touch me.
“You better figure your shit out then because I’m not a toy that you get to decide which way you want to bend me or control me anytime you want. Trust is earned, but I haven’t done a damn thing to make you doubt me. This is who I am, take a good look.” I hold my hands out to my sides, letting him look at me.
He stares at me as if he wants to sweep me off my feet and throw me on the bed. Hot, needy lust takes over his facial expression as he slowly drags his gaze starting at my feet and slowly moving up, taking his time until he’s looking into my eyes again. I know what he sees. Me, drowning in his friend's shirt that hangs at my knees, as the rest of my body is covered in paint, but that doesn’t stop his gaze from switching to anger and then going straight into lust. He tries to take a step towards me, but I move my hand in front to rest against his chest before he gets too close.
“No.” He freezes before he can come any closer, hearing the way my voice croaks.
“Tillie-” He starts but I cut him off.
“I’m too tired to deal with this right now. If you come any closer, I’m going to cave and that just puts me right back at square one. Let me go.” I stare at his chest, not wanting to see the pent up desire and longing in his gaze, knowing I’ll break within seconds to give in to him.
He doesn’t say a word, the only sound in my bedroom is our breathing that seems to be in sync. I slowly pull away, watching as he takes a small step backwards to give me space. I turn my back on him as I finally walk into the bathroom and shut the door quietly as my chest aches. When will it ever get easier? Will I ever be able to let anyone in without getting hurt? Tears form at the corner of my eyes as I stare into the mirror, hating the look on my face. One of hopelessness and defeat. Turning on the tap water, I splash my face until all the paint is gone and washing down the sink with the rest of my night. A loud thump comes on the other side of the door followed by a groan, making me wish he would just leave me alone. I can’t tonight. I just can’t deal with this right now.
With a sigh, I swing the door open, planning on ripping him a new one until he’s storming out of my room but I’m only met with silence and the dark. Chills sweep up and down my body as I rub my arms. Walking towards the curtains where the moonlight is shining through, I’m about to open them when I trip over something on the floor. Crashing on my hands and knees, I swear under my breath and reach up to rip the curtains open and turn around to see what I fell over. My breath stalls in my chest as I see a pant leg sticking out from the other side of the bed. Crawling forward, I see Logan passed out and a pool of blood forming around his head. Scrambling towards him, I lean down and place my head against his chest. The steady thump under my ear makes it easier to breathe. What happened to him? I skim my fingers behind his neck as I lean back up and my fingers come away warm and wet at the base of his skull.
“Logan? Wake up!” I shake his shoulders roughly and feel relieved when he groans in pain but his eyes don’t open.
“Tillie, come out, come out wherever you are.” A voice so familiar, one that I could never forget, suddenly echoes almost like a whisper of the wind, taunting me from somewhere inside the house… Payne.
No. No. No. He’s found me.
