Page 19 of Swallow Your Fear
“Almost thought you packed up and left,” Booker said, his voice coming from the doorway.
“Nope.” My voice was muffled by the comfy cloud enveloping me.
Silence stuck to the air like tape on paper, and I almost thought he may have left, but then he spoke again. “Good day at work?”
I stared at the creamy pillow case with what little light wafted into the room from the open door. The sun had already set by the time I got home, and I hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights or change my clothes before crawling into bed.
“It was fine,” I replied blandly.
Even if it wasn’t, what did he care? Why was he standing there trying to make small talk as if this was some kind of friendship? Or relationship, even. It was none of that. We were hardly acquaintances, and from the few impressions I had of Booker, he didn’t seem like a chatty guy.
Boots stomped on the hardwood, turning muffled as they passed onto the rug, then the comforter was yanked off the bed, exposing me.
“Hey!” I yelled, sitting up.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he grumbled.
“I should be asking you that!”
His furious eyes took in my uniform. “You’re wearing fucking work clothes in bed and moping like a wet fucking cat. What the fuck happened?”
“Nothing fucking happened,” I shot back, getting up on my knees to lean over the edge of the bed in an attempt to grab the blanket.
Before I could grasp the fabric, an arm looped around my waist, and I was tossed back at the pillows, bouncing slightly on the mattress.
“What the fuck, Booker!”
His lips were pressed into a firm line. “Talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, digging my fingers into the pillow. My skirt had risen up my thighs, and I was well aware he could see my underwear with my legs bent up to my chest.
“This ain’t fucking high school, Darlin’.” He leaned closer, grabbing the edge of my skirt and yanking it toward himself. “Now put on your fucking big girl panties and tellme why you’re laying in this bed like you’d rather it be a coffin.”
Sheesh. And he thought I was dramatic?
“Chase still has the deed.”
Booker froze, then a second later, his brows pulled inward. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
He pulled the fabric harder, and I swore it’d tear. “You go see him today? Huh, Brynne?” Then, his voice dropped, and our mouths were inches apart. “Your little orgasm yesterday not enough for your needy little pussy?”
I had to press my lips together in order to stop the tremble that threatened to show. I couldn’t let him see how he got under my skin. “One of his friends visited me at work.” He didn’t need to know the guy probably wasn’t afriendof Chase’s.
A pulse ticked in his jaw. “What do you mean, visited?”
I supposed there was no point in trying to lie now. “Visited, as in he jumped over the counter and grabbed me. Told me I’d be his payment if Chase didn’t hand it over.”
Booker’s eyes flashed, violence so potent swirling in the depths of his irises. “Where did he touch you.”
My breathing was almost nonexistent as I slowly brought my hand up to the collar of my shirt.
He didn’t look at the placement, but he knew. “What did he do.”
I swallowed the rock threatening to choke me. “He shoved me against the counter.” The words were quiet, full of breath.
His jaw moved as he ground his teeth together, the movement the only sound in the room as my lungs ceasedto work. That look on his face—it was one I never wanted aimed towards me.
