Page 90 of Insatiable

Stacey moves beside me, resting her head on my chest; she can probably hear how fast and hard my heart is pounding. She’s patient with me. She’ll give me time to adjust to all of this. Even the way she places her palm on my chest next to her head is gentle.

The scent of her shampoo and the sound of her deep breaths are the last things I remember before I drift off. I fall into the first peaceful sleep I’ve had in years as we both cuddle into each other.

When I wake in the morning, the top I gave her is neatly folded on my dresser – and she’s gone.

I reach for my phone and notice I have a text from her. A picture she sent an hour ago. I’m passed out, spooning her with my face buried in her hair. She’s sleepily grinning and giving the middle finger, with a message beneath the image that says,You snore so loud, asshole.

23

KADE

My eyes strain against the light as Stacey follows me out the hotel.

She hasn’t spoken a fucking word to me. I woke up in her bed, her on the floor with a blanket – shivering. I draped the duvet over her and snuck to my own room before she’d woken up.

She washed all the blood from my hands, arms and face, even my hair, and then slept on the hard floor.

I texted her an apology, and all she said was that we had fifteen minutes before we needed to leave.

The silence is starting to piss me right off.

When I ask if she wants to grab food, she hums.Hums. What the fuck is that? A yes or a fucking no?

“Where’s your car?” she asks, looking around the car park.

For a second, I have no clue as I look around too, then it dawns on me, and I blow out a breath, even more annoyed I wrecked it. “We need to get an Uber.”

“What happened to your car?”

I shrug and pull out a smoke. It’s probably still buried in a ditch, unless Barry cleaned that up too, but I haven’t heard from him yet.

She types on her phone as she leans against a wall, crossing her arms with a scowl on her face, then checks the time on her watch while tapping her foot. Amused, I lean against the railing and fill my lungs with something not nearly as poisonous as her.

My side is badly bruised, but I welcome the ache. It stops me from staring at Stacey and wanting to spark a conversation with her, to see her smile or have her on her knees again.

I think she was touching the bruise when I was asleep, unless I was hallucinating. I remember opening my eyes to her face screwed up in confusion as her fingertips traced the purpling skin, her lip quivering before everything went black again.

Just as I go to ask, she storms towards our ride. I have to hurry to catch up with her.

I should thank her for at least looking after me when I obviously couldn’t even speak.

“About earlier—”

“Don’t,” she warns. “Just get in the car, Kade.”

I frown at the way she says my name. “Fine. Luciella thinks we just got off the flight,” I say as we both get into the Uber. “We’ll stop somewhere for food and head to meet them. My gran won’t be there. She sadly has the flu.” The last part is sarcasm.

Nothing. No response.

If she wasn’t Stacey, my violent side would want to smash her head into the glass for ignoring me. Make her bleed. Scream for forgiveness.

The silent treatment I give her is for her own good.

Her ignoring me now is just childish behaviour.

I shouldn’t care that she won’t look at me, but I find myself growing agitated and a tad nervous that she’s blanking my existence. She’s the only person in the world to ever make me feel like this, and that makes me fist my hands in rage.

I’m Kade Mitchell. I don’t do emotions. I don’t care about people, especially not people who fuck me over. So why can’t I stop looking at her?

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