Page 13 of We Will Reign

I touched the flames, and I liked it.

I tasted sin—so bitter, so tart.

I reached into the fire and got warm.

I sat alone as the embers burned out in the dark.

* * *

My long lashes flutter open when I’m startled awake. I slap my hand to my nightstand until I find my phone. Once I’ve got it, I hold it up to check the time—three-thirteen.

“What the hell?” I’ve only slept for two and a half hours? I drop my phone down beside me. I suppose two and a half hours is better than some nights, where I only get an hour of sleep at a time in between waking up. Part of me was hoping the alcohol would knock me out until the sun woke me up in the morning.

My head isn’t pounding as hard, but I definitely still feel the effects of the alcohol I drank. Everything is fuzzy—like a dream.

I shift onto my back, eyes wide open and plastered to the ceiling. My body shivers, a strange feeling washing over me. The notion that someone is watching me. It’s happened before and my intuition was right. Only this time, it’s in my room. My safe place. My sanctuary.

I turn my head slowly, while keeping my shoulders pinned to the mattress. I grab my phone at my side and grip it tightly, while keeping it low, so it’s not visible to anyone who might be in my room. When I see his shadow from the closet light dancing on the wall, my heart jumps into my throat.

This isn’t just a bad dream. It’s a nightmare.

Rooted to the bed, my eyes drift around the room in search of him. Maybe I’ve been too trusting to think Ridge would never hurt me. Is that why he’s here? To hurt me?

Turning my head toward the door, I stop halfway when I catch him standing tall at the foot of my bed. I yelp at the sight before me. My hand slaps over my mouth and I swallow down the urge to scream.

Ridge trails his fingers across the comforter over my feet as he walks slowly around the side of the bed. My heart races at the same tempo as the pounding in my head.

I don’t take my eyes off him, and he doesn’t break his gaze on me. The sound of something jiggling in his hand has me elevating my head slightly.

In the dim of the light, I’m able to see what he’s holding—a bottle of some sort. He twists the top off and shakes it over his hand. A couple pills drop out and he brings them to my mouth.

I gulp, choking on my words. “What is that?”

Hesitantly, I scoot until I’m sitting. Instead of taking the pills from him, I go for the bottle he’s holding. I hold it up to inspect what he’s trying to feed me and, sure enough, it’s my prescription sleeping pills that were in the drawer of my nightstand.

Ridge takes the bottle back, puts the top on, then sets it on the table. I watch every move he makes intently, each finger bend, each flinch. And when he reaches for my hand, I let him take it. He’s got manly ones—strong, rough, and calloused. Flipping my hand over, he sets the pills in my palm before raising my hand to my mouth.

I hate taking medication and those pills are a last resort, but I’m so tired and really need a good night’s sleep, but I can’t accept anything from him. I can’t trust this guy.

Why am I letting him do this? Throw the pills and run!

But I don’t stop him. My heart pounds recklessly, reminding me I’m not only awake, but alive. Suddenly, I’m mesmerized by him. Under a spell that I can’t get out of. This dark shadow of a figure entered my room, uninvited, and here I am, holding on to the fact that he’s also enamored with me. He has to be. Why else would he spend so much time studying me?

Ridge has a way of captivating my mind. It’s like every logical response to his behavior vanishes and I’m left to my own devices, which is never a good thing. The little girl inside me, starving for attention, is drawn to him because attention is what he gives me.

The pills roll around, some of the coating seeping onto my taste buds.

I watch closely as he picks up a glass of water I had on my nightstand and brings it to my mouth. I don’t take control; I just tip my head back and swallow down the water with the pills.

I’m not sure why I take what he’s giving to me. There’s a part of me that resorts back to my childhood when my mom would care for me when I was sick. It gives me a feeling of security knowing someone cares.

The glass clinks against the table and Ridge takes a few steps back until he’s sinking down on my pink, velvet wingback chair that’s angled toward me. His forearms lay flat on the armrests and he leans back, getting comfortable.

There's no point in asking him why he’s here, or what he wants. I’ll get no response. Instead, I lie still and allow my mind to focus on his presence, rather than the dark thoughts that invade my head any other night.

He’s a distraction, and while it’s fucking insane, it works because the next thing I know, I’m fading away.

CHAPTER5

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