Page 33 of Bound to a Killer
His hand jerks away, but before I can react, it swings back down on my cheek, hard enough to make my head swing back and my vision blur. Tears stream hot and fast down my face, but the sharp sting of his slap is nothing compared to the shame I’m drowning in.
“Steven?” My mom’s breathy voice drifts in from around the corner. “What…What’s going on?” she asks nervously.
“Nothing, babe,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Just teaching our little girl a valuable lesson. You actlike a whore; you get treated like one.” He hacks a thick glob onto the floor, then inspects the hand I’d bitten.
“Stevie, honey, let's leave her alone,” she says with a slight tremor.
She’s scared of him. Of course, she always is. It’s unusual for her to intervene in a moment like this, probably from being too high to grasp the gravity of what’s happening. That’s all they ever do together, strung up on drugs or too drunk to function.
Reluctantly, he saunters over to her, mumbling slurs along the way. Hand in hand, they retreat up the stairs together, and not once does she glance back at me as they both disappear over the rail.
Tears stream down my agitated cheeks. It stings like the time I tripped playing tag and scraped my face against the carpet. Only back then, Mom was there to soothe the burn with a cool cloth and a generous dollop of petroleum jelly, singing me a soft lullaby. Seething hurt cinched tight around my wallowing heart. I sit with it alone. Not the rug burn, or even the hardest slap, could sting more than her abandonment in this moment.
Usually,I wake with a violent jolt and a choked sob caught in my throat. But this time, my whimpers fade at the feel of something warm and solid wrapped around me. Gentle whispers of reassurances lull me back toward sleep.
“Everything will be okay,” the voice murmurs. My guardian angel fighting off the bad dreams and pulling me back into quiet.
My headinstinctively jerks away from the window, shielding myself from the blinding sunrays spilling in, but I freeze when a sudden pressure tightens around my waist as I shift.
My breath hitches, an eerie chill coasting along my skin.
Carefully, I part my lashes, their wispy ends veiling my sight but leaving just enough to catch the blurred edge of his shadow before I dare open them wider.
He’s here.
In my bed.
Next to me.
My heart stutters. The air thickens—too hot, too scarce. How did this happen?
I count backward from ten, desperate to piece it together, but I can hardly remember a thing, until—oh, God.
Another nightmare.
They’ve only grown worse since Mom left, triggering a domino effect that finally toppled after I was taken.
Still, that doesn’t explainwhyhe’s in bed with me. His arms burn a hole through the thick layer of clothes I have on, but I stay perfectly still, afraid to even breathe the wrong way.
Those same hands have ended a person's life, maybe countless lives, and now they’re on me. Touching me. I’m horrified when a confusing, mortifying thrill sparks through my body at the feel of them, my core tightening as I tilt my head just enough to take him in. Eyes closed. Hair tousled. The harsh lines that usually frame his face are softened in sleep.
He’s so…beautiful. It guts me.
I want to forget it all. To go back to when we were strangers on a snowy morning, pretending nothing ever came after. Keep my stupid infatuation buried deep where it belongs, and carry on with the life that was ripped from me.
His hand stirs, the faintest movement against my taut stomach, and fear springs back to my chest. There’s a jolt of something else there, too.
Something dark and disturbingly addictive.
Driven by instinct alone, my muscles clench. My breath falters, but I don’t wrench myself away like I should. Instead,my eyes stay glued to his as they snap open. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to, his gaze pinning me down in a daunting stare. My breath deepens. Neither of us utter a word.
Hidden beneath his hard features is a sickening sense of amusement that always seems to twist the corners of his lips. He’s taking joy in my discomfort.
Suddenly, his hand glides lower across my abdomen, fingers skating my waistband. My stomach hollows out. But more embarrassingly, a rush of heat shoots down into my core.
His eyes glaze over. Predatory.
Then he gives my drawstrings a sturdy tug. Taunting me. Baiting me for my reaction.
