Page 14 of Pretend
The first thing I see is his combat boots trailing up to his pants and his thick, muscled thighs.
Then I see his hands. They’re big hands, with veins that make their presence well known all over. He fiddles with a bullet. Tracing it in between his fingers, still standing in the corner.
That’s weird.
Then I tip my head slightly up, and immediate heat flashes across my cheeks like I was just caught with my hands in a cookie jar on a Christmas night.
He’s staring straight at me. I can’t see his face, but his eyes tell me everything. He’s watching me like I’m something to study.
I blink fast, pretending I wasn’t staring back at him, and I purse my lips, returning to the E-book on my phone.
“Why so red, Valentine?”
Shit.
I swallow as if that will hinder me from what I truly feel inside.
“It’s hot in here,” I lie. My response came out faster than I intended it to. “And it’s Valentín.” I correct him once again.
I readjust my position, sittingcrisscross.
But am I really lying? There’s no AC in here, and something about the stranger next to me has me wanting to fan myself.
Then my eyes circle when I see his name tag.
Hannibal
Hannibal is also the name of the operator who escaped when he was a prisoner of war. The one that hasn’t taken off his mask since his capture.
Operator Creature.
The sniper with the longest distance shot ever recorded. The operator that never misses when he shoots. He hasn't missed one shot since joining the Navy...maybe ever.
“Are you Daegan Hannibal? LikeTHEHannibal. Operator Creature?”
“I don’t know Valentine. Am I? Do I look like a creature to you?”
He says it wickedly, and I can’t tell if he’s testing me or if I genuinely mistook him for another Navy SEAL. “Technically, we are all creatures by definition,” he finishes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought…” I shrug, looking away from those silver eyes, and I go back to my phone, typing my passcode in promptly.
A few minutes pass by with silence as our only companion. Before I know it, he sits next to me, intruding into my space.
I look at him incredulously, taken aback by his boldness. He’s invading my haven of a boundary, and I don’t know what to say or do.
A small voice in my head tells me I like it. Another voice tells me to throat-punch him.
“Umm?” Is the one word I can muster out of my nervous lips.
Then he pulls out a knife, and my breath hitches in my chest. He holds it in his big hand, and I see the shiny blade glimmer across the poor elevator lighting.My chest heaves up and down, my pulse thundering in my neck at the thought of this man stabbing me.
Is he going to kill me? What the fuck?
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask him, frightened, but for some reason, I can’t move. Because even though I don't know him, the goodness in my heart believes he wouldn’t do something so stupid, like murder the Admiral’s stepdaughter on a Naval base. In a fucking elevator.
Then again, it’s perfect for him because I have nowhere to go in between these four walls.
But then he moves his knife closer to my neck, and I regret not releasing the scream in my throat that bangs against my vocal cords. Then he leans in closer so we’re now face to face. I can feel his cold, icy breath on my lips, his cologne so sharp it makes the pulsation in between my thighs come alive.
