Page 73 of You Were Always Mine
“Fuck,” I whisper, eyes squeezed shut.
“Exactly,” he breathes, pressing closer, the fence rattling with his weight braced behind me. “That’s what you’re scared of, isn’t it?”
The fence rattles hard when his palms close around my thighs, fingers digging in. I gasp, clinging tighter to the chain-link as Kai lifts me like I weigh nothing.
“Relax,” he mutters, voice rough, right against the back of my knee. “I’ve got you.”
Except he doesn’t just boost me. His hands slide higher, squeezing the soft flesh of my ass, pushing me up the fence with deliberate cruelty. The denim of my jeans scrapes, bites into me, but it’s nothing compared to the burn of his touch.
“Stop—” My voice cracks. “Just… push me over.”
“Oh, I’m pushing,” Kai whispers, laughing low. “Feel that? Every time you climb higher, you grind right down on me. You love it.”
I choke on a sob, my body arching against the fence as his grip forces me up another rung. My heart stutters, shame scorching me alive.
“Fuck, Scar.” His breath is hot; his words filthy. “Climbing for me like a good little slut. Bet you’re soaked under these jeans. Want me to check before you make it to the top?”
I dig my nails into the chain-link, trembling so hard I almost lose my hold.
“Please—” It rips out of me, more a crythan a word.
Kai growls, boosting me the last few feet, his fingers sliding away slowly, like he’s carving the heat of his touch into my skin.
I hit the ground hard, knees stinging, palms scraped raw. The empty fairground stretches out before me — dark rides, skeletal stalls, dead bulbs strung overhead like stars that forgot how to burn.
I don’t wait. I run.
My breath tears in my throat, hair whipping behind me, sneakers slapping the cracked pavement. The sound of my own pulse is deafening — until I hear him.
The thud of boots hitting the ground. The low chuckle that carries across the shadows.
“Run, Scar.” His voice is everywhere, echoing off the rusting rides. “Hide if you want. I’ll still fucking find you.”
I duck behind a ticket booth, chest heaving, back pressed to the peeling wood. The night air tastes of rust and old sugar, thick and sticky on my tongue. My body is shaking, but it’s not just fear — it’s the sick, humiliating thrill he’s coming for me.
The silence stretches, heavy, suffocating.
Then footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
“Little sister thinks she can outrun me?” His whisper slithers through the dark. “Cute.”
I press a hand over my mouth to smother a sound, every muscle quivering. He’s close. Too close.
And God help me, I don’t know if I want him to catch me or not.
The booth wall digs into my back, splinters snagging my shirt, but I don’t move. I can’t. My chest heaves with shallow, panicked breaths, my hands clamped over my mouth as if I can smother the sound of being alive.
The footsteps fade. Then return. Then vanish again. He’s circling.
“Scarlett…” My name drips from the shadows, low, drawn-out, intimate. “You know better than to hide from me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. My thighs press together, shaking, useless.
“You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” The voice comes from the left, or maybe the right — I can’t tell anymore. “All that adrenaline, all that fear… you’re dripping, Scar. Admit it.”
I shake my head hard, biting down on my palm. A whimper still leaks out.
The footsteps stop. Silence.
