Page 24 of Splitting Secrets
“They did a fantastic job of hiding you.”
I sneer. “What does that mean?”
“It means that legally, Sonnet Ellery is nowhere near related to”—He pauses, eyes flicking to mine before they bounce away to look at the door behind me—“your parents.”
He’s respecting the boundary I set.
“In fact, Sonnet Ellery hardly exists at all. A couple of credit cards, a fake passport, and an ID with a photo of a woman who looks astoundingly close to you, yet...not. That’s all there is.”
Our fake IDs. How could he have found them both? Unless...
“Did you kill her, too?”I think, hoping he can still hear me.
“No.”
He continues his spiel. “How is it that someone can go twenty-one years without a single school transcript? A tax form? Hell, even an overdue medical bill?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve had all those things.”
How does this mind communication thing work? Do I have to let him in, or does he insert himself whenever he wants? And how many times has he done this before?
“More than you’d be comfortable with.”
I straighten against the back of the chair. “What does that mean?”
His dark chuckle vibrates through my thoughts. The familiar, velvety sound sends chills skittering down my spine.
“You’ve had very dirty thoughts about your Psych professor, Miss Ellery.”
Fuck.
“Have you? Anyway, once I dug deep for all your personal information, I did some social digging. Never one to really findyour place, huh? Perhapsthat’swhy you decided to take on Penelope’s identity and stole the Carmichael legacy spot.”
Grief punches me in the gut at Poppy’s name being said aloud. I’ve done a stellar job avoiding all thoughts of her since I’ve been here, too occupied withsurvivingto allow myself a moment to process. But hearing her name brings it all crashing to the surface again.
“Why are you doing this?”I cry out to him mentally.
There is no response.
Wobbly legs lift me from my chair and drag me over to where he stands. “Don’t fuck with me,” I bite out, jabbing my finger into his chest with every word.
The threat is weak. Realistically, what can I do? If he put a gun to my head and told me to walk a straight line, I’d be dead in seconds. The most lethal thing about me right now is probably my breath.
A large hand wraps around my knuckle and squeezes just as I’m spun around, my back slamming into the wall. My head bounces off the stone when he wraps his other hand around my neck and pins me in place.
Everything happens so quickly, I hardly have time to react.
“Be careful, Little Nightmare. No one lays their hands on me and walks away unharmed,” he warns quietly.
“Fuck you,” I spit, squirming against his grip. He’s keeping his fingers tight enough around my throat to hold me in place but loose enough to allow me to breathe and speak.
“I’d love to. How should I do it?” He flicks his head to the left, tightening his grip on my fist. “Should I bend you over the table and do it? Or maybe you’d like to straddle me on the floor. Oooh, I know. I can spin you around right here and fuck you from behind while you beg for your next breath.”
His tone is too playful to be intimidating. If anything, I’d say the idea of fucking me is actually getting him excited rightnow. Like when we were back in his office with our usual banter before I ended up sprawled out on his couch.
“I doubt your masters will be happy if you do that,pet,” I spit, too stupid to back down.
A chuckle rolls up his throat, vibrating against my chest. His thumb moves in slow circles against my jawline as he considers what to do next.
