Page 63 of Jagged Line Paradise

I should let her run.

I should be glad that she ran.

It was smart on her part.

But the beast loves a fucking chase.

I take off after her.

She makes it to where I parked the SUV before I catch up to her and by now, I’ve lost reason. My brain has conjured up the memory of the night we first kissed, when she playfully ran from me and I chased after her, only to end up with her in my bed.

I’m hyper-focused on that memory as I reach out for her, my brain and cock twitching for a similar ending, while the eighteen-year-old version of me wishes she would fucking run faster and get the hell away from me.

There’s some small part of me that wishes she got off on the chase, too.

But howcould she after what she went through with my father?How could I be chasing after her like a monster?

But I don’t stop.

When I catch up to her, I wrap my arms around her waist, clutching her around the stomach and thrusting the air out of her as I lift her off her feet. I hold her back to my front as I drag her backward the few steps to my car, which she’d only just passed. I shift, holding her in one arm as I reach into my pocket to pull out the key fob and click to unlock the doors. I reach behind me to the back door of the SUV and wrench it open wide.

I twist her, turn her, and push her into the backseat, ignoring her tears and protests.

I’ma fucking monster.

She shoots across to the other side of the car, reaching for the handle, but I don’t want her falling out, running back to Mack, potentially harming herself in this suddenly frantic state that she’s found herself in—a frantic state that I put her in.

I climb in behind her, and pull the door shut after me. I sit in the seat and turn toward her, reaching, grasping at her top just to get a grip on her. When I manage to get my hands around her waist, I drag her toward me, pulling her up onto my lap.

I sit her on my knees as her legs drape over mine. I’ve got a good grip on her now, but she still fights me. Her delicate fists come up and she pounds them against my chest.

“Don’t take me!” she screams. “Don’t take me! Don’t take me! Let me go! I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna die! Please!”

Dios mío.

I’ve done this to her.

I’ve done the worst possible thing I can do to her.

I just chased after her when she was running away scared. I just overpowered her, dragged her to a car, and shoved her inside it. I’ve lost control of myself with her, just like I knew I would.

What the hell am I doing?

I’ve worked with enough victims to know better than to do what I just did to a kidnapping survivor.

What if shehas PTSD?

I’m an asshole.

I’m a motherfuckingbeast monster asshole.

I grab her face in both hands, trying to hold her head still, trying to connect her with me here in the present, but her eyes are squeezed shut. She’s just blindly lashing out, pounding against my chest over and over.

“Lonnie. Sunshine.Luz de mivida.”

Her fists slow, her voice quiets, her fight eases.

I hold her cheeks and wait, let the frantic energy of her fight shift in the air between us, giving way to heavy breaths and gentle sobbing.

---