Page 48 of Unorthodox
I hug myself tighter. “It smells like pine.”
“Are you allergic to pine?”
I look up, see a tiny hint of a smile on his lips, an eyebrow cocked as he waits for my answer.
“No.”
He just stares at me, eyes roaming over my face. I’ve noticed that about him, in the few interactions we’ve had. He’s always staring. It’s unnerving. It’s like he does it when he’s thinking carefully of what he wants to say. Instead of using “ums” and “ahs” like most normal human beings, and averting his eyes, he just stares as his brain works. It should be a source of awkwardness forhim,not understanding how people maintain eye contact, but I’m sure he feels none of the edginess I do when he looks at me like that.
“It just…” I drop my arms, then run a hand through my hair, looking anywhere but at him. I don’t want to take Uncle Cade out of his box. I don’t want to talk about any of this, but I know a little about Max, and I know he won’t let this go. If I don’t tell him, he’ll take me back to that room, or maybe the basement, maybe he’ll make me lickthisfloor clean, or fuck, maybe he’ll blowmyhead to bits this time. “It just brings back bad memories.”
More silence.
I want to scream at him to leave.
I want to run myself, but I force myself to stay right where I’m at.
“Come here,” he says again.
I grit my teeth, wanting to stay right where I am, but some small part of me is relieved he didn’t ask another question. I take a deep breath, then I do as he asked.
I come to stand in front of him.
He reaches his arms out, pulls me between his knees, and my hands reflexively go to his bare shoulders.
I remember how he told me not to touch him in the shower, but it’s too late. I already am.
Still, he flinches and says, “Drop your hands,” his voice little more than a growl.
I want to argue, but I recognize this isn’t the place for me to do that.
I drop my hands by my sides, and he looks up at me, his silver and blue eyes reflecting from the bathroom light. “Good girl.”
“I’m not a dog, Max.” I think about what he said in the bathroom, and fear and anger both warm my body.
I know he must be thinking it, too, because he smiles, and it makes me shiver. “Stop fighting me, Addison. You don’t want to do that anymore tonight.”
I swallow down my retort with his warning, and glance at the door for one second. I think about Dante beyond it.
This is temporary.
Someone will come for me.
Max sees my gaze and grabs my chin in one hand, turning me to face him. “You like him?” he asks me, a challenge in his question.
There’s only one right answer to that question. “No.”
His fingers dig into my jaw, and the hand on my lower back shifts lower, just over my hip. “No?”
My heart is racing, my nerves shot. It takes effort to keep my hands by my sides. “No.”
“That’s a good answer, love.” He lets go of my face, and his hands come to the waistband of my sweats, resting on my hips.
I tense, but don’t move.
“Your father called me today,” he says quietly, eyes roaming over my body.
I hold my breath, waiting, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach at the mention of my father.
