Page 11 of Watch Me Burn

It wasn’t until I felt the hard steel of his gun press into my stomach that I grasped the situation: Ethan Wayne had truly come to kill me.

I shouted my pleas into Ethan’s hands, but he couldn’t hear because of how tightly he held me. Wary, he lightened his grasp slightly and let me speak.

He cursed under his heavy breath. “All I need is for you to listen to me for two minutes. Then, I’ll leave and never come back if that’s what you wish.” His chest just barely grazed mine from how greatly it heaved, and I didn’t know whether to be mesmerized under his tattooed muscles or frightened.

Taking my silence as submission, he asked softly, “Now, can I remove my hand from your mouth?” His voice had a deep husk to it whenever he spoke quieter.

I nodded wordlessly as he slowly withdrew his hand, letting my lips plump back from their flattened state.

“Took you long enough. I was dying for air in there,” I groaned. “You can remove your gun too!”

Rubbing my throat, I nodded toward my belly.

Ethan stared at me wide-eyed, then stumbled back a step, his muscular chest finally releasing my body from the wall. He stared at me as a faint grin formed on his lips.

“That wasn’t a gun, babe.”

I briefly glanced at his large bulge in his pants, then blushed and crossed my arms.

“Sorry about that,” he said, still grinning. “Fifteen years in prison can do that to a man when his body presses against the soft curves of a woman.”

My cheeks were fiery red, but I wouldn’t let him see how much he threw me off here.

“Well, Ethan, has the logical thought ever occurred to you that you shouldn’t force yourself on to women in this manner, then?”

That stupid smirk was wiped right off his face. “You . . . know who I am?”

“Of course I do. Your nose is still slightly crooked from when you broke it on your grandma’s table and those deep brown eyes are still the same. But if you barged in here thinking I’d beg for my life, you are dead wrong. I already faced my worst nightmare fifteen years ago, so say what you have to say or kill me or whatever but get on with it or get the fuck out.”

“You aren’t . . . scared of me, huh?” Ethan asked, scarred mouth wavering. A smirk played at his lips again, and I couldn’t help noticing that Ethan Wayne had turned into a man who could make women’s panties wet by just looking at them.

“A bit, maybe, but who lets their hostage speak in a room full of thin walls?” For emphasis, I loudly banged the wall next to mine. Not-so-friendly words were yelled by my neighbor.

“You should kill me if that’s what you’re here for. I’m not playing along to any games or crying for mercy. But if you’re here to just freeze like a deer in headlights, I’d rather you just leave.” Expression vacant, I wandered my eyes to more interesting elements of my living room. Like, not the six-two bulk of muscles that engulfed my body in its entirety.

“Good to see you’re still as passionate and sassy as you were back then when we were kids.” His face darkened. “Could have used some of that in the courtroom to defend me.”

An awkward moment of silence passed as I felt a sharp pain in my chest. So he still pleaded his innocence.

“I’m not here to hurt you. But I’ll also not let you get away with ruining my life for another day. We need to talk, and I won’t leave before we do,” Ethan explained. “So, are you going to listen for once or do I have to press you against the wall again and cover your mouth?”

I shrugged, locking my eyes back onto him. “If you just wanted to talk, you shouldn’t have ambushed me like some psycho. Maybe try a little knock. A ‘please, can we talk’ would have done it, too.”

There was heavy tension in the air before Ethan broke into a grin. “I found your fire and passion enchanting once,” he remarked, tongue lurching to lick his rosy lips. “But back then, I was just a kid and you a little girl.”

I retorted, “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Ethan ran his eyes across my frame in a lustful once-over. “I can see that,” he teased.

“Oh, fuck you. And for the record, I think your standards are down in hell, but I’d guess that even you didn’t show up at my condo just to ogle my ass.” Ethan’s eyes darkened, his grip on my wrist loosening. I tore free and walked into my living room to sit down. He made his way over to the other end of the couch, allowing me to sit up and face him properly. I could tell even from our sitting positions that he’d matured a lot in height, though I doubted that reflected in personality, too.

“I know me showing up here like this looks hella crazy. But I really am here to explain my side of the story: the truth. I’m not a murderer, Anna.” Ethan’s voice cracked midway through, but I didn’t know whether to take that as a sign of sincerity or shitty acting.

“Okay,” I huffed. I caught his eyes veering to where my breasts perked up. “What’s the story, Ethan? Make it quick before I call the cops.”

Clenching his jaw, Ethan nodded. Whatever he had to say, it was a shocker in itself that he was actually out. I couldn’t fathom how a parole board would come to accept his release. Literally all of the evidence at the scene pointed toward him—including my emotional testimony. So why was I even listening to this murderer?

Because deep down, I hope more than anything else in life that it truly wasn’t him!

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