Page 15 of Jerk
I keep my finger on the fork of the lighter, the flame still alive. “I’ve fucked you before, I’ll fuck you harder, Rye.”
His grip tightens around my throat, a lightness in my chest. “I promise you, no one can fuck you harder than me.”
A spark fires through me, jerking my body enough to let the flame of the lighter kiss the fabric.
Whoosh!
“Hannah!” Rye lurches for the fabric, but he’s too late, a burst of orange crawling across the veil.
The mannequin topples to the ground, right on the whiskey spilling from his broken glass.
Flames burst out in front of me, and holy fuck... did I just do that? Did I just ruin a Michelle Nam piece? My stomach twists, but a smile pulls at my lips when I see the panic on Rye’s face.
He turns around just in time to see me smirk and, in one quick motion, he pins me against the door, the opener back in his hand.
The cold edge comes to my throat, that feeling tickling up my spine when I see the rage in his eyes. I still have power over him, and I proved it.
“You keep playing with fire,” he says, his voice rumbling. “You want to get burnt?”
The smell of burning fabric takes over the scent of his tainted breath. “I’m just giving you something to think about the next time you have me cornered.”
Orange grows brighter around us, the air thicker.
Crackle! SMASH!
Something falls next to my heel, a squeal leaving me as my eyes widen, but he doesn’t move.
“Get the hell off me,” I demand, smoke tickling my throat as a blaze of fire climbs up another piece of fabric.
We need to fix this. We need to get out of here. But he won’t budge.
Flames dance in his eyes, his gaze remaining on me. “I should let you fucking burn.”
SIX
RYE
Smoke fills the room,my mother’s work going up in flames with my ego.
I should worry about the fabric burning next to us.
I should worry about this place burning to the ground.
Instead, I'm staring ather.
“Get off!” Her hands come to my wrist, my grip still around her neck. “Rye!”
She’s begging, and that sound is better than any orchestra. But when another flaming piece of fabric falls to the ground, the room rushes back to me.
Her hand collides with my face in one hard slap, and it stuns me enough that she slips from my grip, but not for long.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My hand catches her wrist before she can take off. With a pull, she lands against my chest, our eyes locking on impact. “This is your mess.”
Hannah burned me enough. I’m not letting her burn down my mother’s studio for me to take the blame. Looking around, my muscles tighten as I take in the scene.
How the fuck did I let it get this bad?
My mom’s new veil? Roasted.
