Page 52 of Mariposa
“Beast?”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…” he continues, his voice shaking with unease. He pulls out a knife, twirling the sharp blade between his fingers. He’s flipping it over and over again ashe continues counting, restarting his countdown when he gets to zero.
I call out again, but he doesn’t move. He continues to count, and that’s when I realize he isn’t here anymore. His mind is somewhere else.
Peering over his shoulder on my tiptoes, I manage to glance at what’s keeping his hands busy. He’s carving wood. Before I can get more details, I tap his shoulder.
“Kade.”
Before I can blink, move, or breathe, he whirls and his chest collides with mine, until we’re both wrapped into each other, desperately trying to catch our balance but both failing miserably. With deep grunts and pained yelps, we’re intertwined. My lungs take most of the blow when my back collides with the hard sand, and my eyes widen when I realize he’s on top of me, his hand behind the back of my head. A sharp pinch burns the base of my neck. I look down to see his knife at my throat.
20
VIOLET
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Violet?” he snarls cruelly. His eyes widen with that same disgusted gaze. It’s practically tattooed into my brain.
“I could ask you the same thing, Kade!" I cough hoarsely and try to fight back tears.
“It’s Master Sergeant.”
“Spare me. Everyone is clocked out. We’re supposed to be having fun. You know, celebrating? Celebrating that class is done? You can go back to whatever you were doing before you were assigned to teach, and I’m going to go to?—”
“What’s to celebrate? Huh? I failed. You were supposed to be crying back home to Daddy. There’s no place for you out there in a warzone, Violet. There’s also no tables you’ll be able to dance on with this dress of yours,” he mocks me.
“Fuck you! My father is dead, you misogynistic piece of shit! If you don’t want me in SF so bad, why did you assign me to the same group you’re in?!”
“Who told you that?” he tuts disapprovingly.
“Booker!” I grab his wrist and squeeze as hard as I can, but it only elicits a fierce smirk on his lethal, devilishly handsome face. I manage to take the knife away, but I freeze, speechless when I realize he cut me. My blood is smeared all over the blade, and a wave of shock washes over me.
“Look at that.So you do bleed pretty,” he hisses into my ear sarcastically, but there’s a hint of seduction.
“You cut me. I came out here to apologize!”
“It wasn’t on purpose. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I called your name over and over again!”
I take advantage of this raw side of Beast and push him. Lord knows how I manage to move a six-foot-six-inch massive monster, but suddenly I’m on top. The raw skin of my knees sinks into the sand on either side of his hips. His grip is on my thighs, like he wants to push me off or…hold onto me tighter.
“Little mariposa can jump. I underestimated you.”
“Since day fucking one,” I quip.
We stare at each other for what feels like forever as the sound of heavy waves crash against the shore. I’ve never been this close to him. He’s never allowed me to touch him like this—granted, I’ve never tried, but still. Why doesn’t he move? Why don’t I?
The salt breeze blows through my hair, and he narrows his eyes at me like he wants to kill me. There’s the asshole, instructor I know and hate very well.
“Isla, get off me before I?—”
I quirk a brow.
“Before you what?” I challenge. “You're technically not my instructor anymore. You can't order me around.”
“Always so fucking stubborn. Always wanting to know shit that doesn’t concern you. Always wanting to bark out orders instead of taking them,” he argues.
“And you—always bark with no fucking bite,” I taunt him.
