Page 10 of Ends of Being

She doesn’t move away from me, her hands fisting at her sides as she asks, “Is that a challenge? Shall we see if I can come up with enough effort to make it happen?”

I chuckle softly, leaning down even closer until my breath practically paints her lips. “Oh, by all means, baby girl. Do. Your. Worst.”

She glares at me, then huffs, jerking her body away from mine and taking a step back. I can see her hesitation; her typical response to me now stuttered and glitchy, and I’m filled with a sense of remorseful glee.

Will I miss our old dynamic now that she has glimpsed the real me?

“Can I have my phone and bag, please?” Her question breaks through my thoughts, and I glance up to see she’s standing there with her hand out, waiting expectantly.As if.

“I will give them both to you when I deposit you inside your house,” I say with a nod in case she didn’t realize my decision was final.

“You don’t need to bring me home. I’ll call an Uber,” she retorts, her arms crossing in front of her. Obviously, she gives no fucks about my feelings of overbearing finality. This I can work with.

“Over my dead fucking body.” I grit the words out between my teeth, my hands clenching at my sides as I ignore my intense urge to force my will on her, preferably after forcing her onto her knees.

“That can be arranged,” she shoots back, unflinching, her eyes shooting daggers at me.

I squint at her, contemplating how best to handle her in this new uncharted territory we’ve ventured into. What I really want to do—what my beast is beating up my insides to do—is to stuff her back into the trunk of my car, kicking and screaming and spitting, consequences and possible witnesses be damned. But no, I can’t do that.

I scoff to myself, disgusted with how terribly wrong this entire evening has gone.“Can’t.”I’m not at all used to that puny, annoying little word, and it’s already on my last nerve. Time to change tactics, time to put playtime and my attempt to overwhelm Antoinette into my way of thinking on the back-burner for now.

“Antoinette, there is no way I’m leaving you out here to find your own way home, so for once in your life, give it a rest and get in the fucking car.” I open the passenger door for her, then wait for her to decide how we’re going to do this. “The easy way or the hard way, baby girl, you decide?”

“Stop calling me that!” she shouts at me, her hands coming up to shove at my chest with all the rage she must have been harboring since waking up in my trunk.

I shrink back a bit, my hands coming up to deflect her attack. She is exceedingly strong, something I learned today when she tossed me over her shoulder and kicked me in the balls, and I won’t make the mistake of letting my guard down with her again.

I grasp her wrists firmly but loosely enough that she won’t feel I’m trying to trap her again. I pull her close to me, bending down slightly so I’m right in her face, my eyes seeking hers as she intentionally evades my gaze. I tighten my grip slightly, giving her a little rattle that snaps her focus to me, and I beam inside when I see the fire burning within her.

There you are, baby girl.

“Please, Toni,” I say quietly, my words almost a whisper. “Allow me to bring you home, so I can be assured you got there safely.”

She cocks her head at me, confusion shadowing her features as she contemplates my rapid shift in demeanor. She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously, then, thankfully, though with obvious annoyance and discontent, she does as I ask and plants herself inside the car.

I barely manage not to slam the door, instead closing it firmly, then walking around to the driver’s side. She’s sitting there like a stone, her arms wrapped around her middle, her left leg bouncing in aggravation.

I lean over the middle console towards her, chuckling to myself when she moves her body away from me. I look her right in the eyes while I grasp her seat belt and buckle her in.

She glares at me again, “Oh, so now you’re concerned for my safety?”

“I’m always concerned with your safety,” I mutter, turning away from her as I pull away from the curb.

She doesn’t say anything, just remains quiet, tucked against the door. I sneak a glance at her; she looks tired. I almost feel bad for dragging her all the way out here and causing her so much grief.Almost.

“Don’t you need my address?” Her question cuts through the quiet, her tone sharply innocent, making it incredibly obvious that she knows I know where she lives.

I don’t respond. I’m also exhausted, and I don’t see any point in wasting energy on rhetoric.

But she’s staring at me, glaring a hole right into the side of my face.

“If you have something to say, Antoinette, by all means, spit it out,” I bite out, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white.

“How do you know where I live, Clark?”

Her voice is quiet, almost sad. I glance over at her, meeting her gaze as I reply, “I know where you live because I got your address off your license that time I saved you from that douchey women-drugging shitbag you dated a ways back.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?” She seems genuinely confused, her brows drawing together as she contemplates what I’m telling her.

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