Page 48 of When Sinners Fall
“Where are you taking me?” she demands, but one glare shuts her up.
Not for long enough.
Doesn’t take much time to get back to mine, and I’m barely listening to the bitching she’s doing all the way. She struggles in my grip until we’re in the elevator, then puts as much distance between us as she can. Not easy in a six-foot box, but she manages it to keep that point of hers being felt.
“What is this?” she snaps, glaring at me.
“This is all in. It’s what you wanted from me.”
I point out the door when it opens, daring her to keep up with this shit.
“All in? You just manhandled me like I was a dog!”
“Get in the fucking apartment, Wren.”
“No.”
Whatever patience I’ve been holding onto shatters. I make a grab for the back of her neck and walk us both out, key going to the lock the second she stops struggling.
“You’re hurting me!” she shrieks.
Yeah, well, that’s all in for me.
And there’s a load more she's not gonna like too.
I let go the moment I’ve shut the door and locked it, pushing the keys into my pocket. She slaps me in the face the second I turn around. And then the other hand joins in to slap me again. My whole body moves against her, instinct pushing her backwards, showing her how fucking unwise that was, but she turns and bolts for the other side of the room.
Cheeks stinging like a bitch, I look over at her and keep my feet planted. “This is you now, Wren. Make yourself at home.”
Her eyes widen from the other side of the room, arms wrapping around herself. “What?”
“I’ll get your things brought over.” I go to the bar and start pouring, maybe trying to calm myself down. “All in, Wren. This is where I can protect you. You wanted more. You got it.”
The whisky slides down, burning the back of my throat, and I keep looking at her over by the doors to the terrace. She flips her gaze around, looking confused. Nothing to be confused about anymore. She’s in.
“Dante. This is not okay. I’m… this isn’t what I meant.”
“No? What the fuck did you mean then? Cause I could have sworn you challenged me about shit I told you not to challenge me on. This is the result.”
“I just wanted a goddamn drink. Dinner. Something low key and around here and-”
“Low key?” A near fucking maniacal laugh comes out of me, hackles raising all the way up, and I take another slug of whisky to try controlling my mood. “You don’t get it, do you? I tried low key. For you. That wasn’t enough, though, was it?”
She looks confused again and tries taking small steps in my direction. “Dante, what the hell is going on?”
“Stop moving, Wren. Don’t.” Her feet halt instantly. Good. Fuck knows what’s going to happen if she keeps going at me with that attitude. “You’ve got what you wanted. Take it and be grateful I'm doing this for you. Behave.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so angry. And what does safety have to do with anything?” I look at anything but her, still trying to contain my own confusion and thoughts. “Why are you being like this?” I don’t even like her being here. She’s shrouded in me while she’s in my space, tainted with me and what I do. And I'm not prepared for this or any talk it might need, certainly not in this mood.
I note the baseball bat that’s always handy, and then glance at the three guns hidden in cupboards and under tables. She wasn’t that. She wasn’t any of that. She was on the sidelines – kept away from it and what I am.
“Dante? Please. Talk to me.” Talk? No. I’m not in the headspace for talking. She starts creeping forward again. “It’s okay. We can talk and find a way if you'll just calm down and-” I move while she’s coming for me, needing away from her before she gets what’s flowing through me. She follows, though, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m picking up the bat and beating hell out of any surface in my way.
Everything clatters and smashes to the ground, glass shattering and wood breaking. She runs in my line of sight, keeping herself against the wall and out of my way. Never seen such a pretty thing look so scared in my life. All it does is throw visions of Mariana at me and fuel my rage because I’m doing this to her. And it’s only gonna get worse from now on. She’ll see it in me. Watch it. Smell it on my skin. Be wary of it.
Wait for it.
I swallow and pant, slinging the bat across the room in the hope that it’s done. It isn’t, as proved by the look of fear on her face when I eventually glare at her. She fucking started this. She pushed and challenged - made me do what she wanted. And see? This is where it gets her.
