Page 35 of Immortal Bastard

She squirmed and elbowed him in the kidney. He grunted, but refused to let her go.

“Put. Me. Down.”

Growing tired of her endless opposition, he doubled his pace. Once in the house, he slammed the front door and locked it. Taking her back upstairs to the bedroom, he deposited her on the bed. She immediately sprang forward, but he pointed a finger at her and gave an unbreakable command.

“Stay!”

“I’m not a fucking dog!”

He lunged forward, losing his patience. “I grow tired of your filthy language and insolence. Sit down and be silent.”

She dropped her weight onto the bed. Her jaw trembled, and he immediately wanted to apologize but thought it might be better to show strength at the moment. Still, he silently relieved her of any compulsion, preferring that she follow his command out of honor and respect rather than force.

“Do not move from that bed.” He’d never known a female could have such a filthy mouth.

He left the room and slammed the door, swinging out his hand at the last moment to compel the latch to lock. Her footsteps rushed after him, followed by her heavy pounding on the wood. “Let me out of here!”

He tipped his head back, surprised to find a strange crick in his neck. Was that tension?

He debated what to do with her. A wooden door was no obstacle for an immortal and she would soon realize that.

The pounding stopped and he listened as drawers opened and closed. She rummaged through his personal belongings, pacing and banging on the walls, slamming into his furniture and throwing items against the door.

When his patience wore thin, he yanked the knob. Delilah blinked up at him, the metal doorknob, now detached from the hardware, filled her fist. Beveled grooves and imprints from her palm marked the walls. She hurled the doorknob at him and he ducked.

“You’re breaking my house.”

She kicked the dresser and it slammed into the adjacent wall. “Let me out of here.”

“I will when I have your word you’ll behave yourself.”

She snatched his hat off the floor. “I’ll shred it,” she threatened. “I’ll destroy everything you own unless you let me go.”

He chuckled, amused that she assumed her value was equivalent to that of a hat or a house or any other possession he might claim. “There are countless hats in the world, pintura, but only one of you.”

Panting, she dropped the hat to the floor and stomped on the crown with her bare foot, crushing the shape. The motion jostled her loose breast under her gown, and he found himself distracted.

Recalling the way her nipples wore metal rings, his mind drifted to a wild fantasy, which was all he could enjoy at the moment with her despising him as she did. His body hardened and he took a step forward, tapping the underside of her chin with his finger as she glared up at him and seethed.

“It’s just a hat.”

She scoffed and smacked his hand away. “Do me a favor and keep your hands to yourself.” She paced toward the window and stilled.

He followed her stare. Buggies passed in the distance and children cloaked in Amish attire scampered, pushing kick scooters toward the schoolhouse. Dust kicked up from a field as an enormous horse-drawn wagon traveled south.

“I’m in hell.”

Her disturbing assessment concerned him. “This is different from what you know, I’m sure, but it’s no hell.”

She shot a thumb toward the window and sneered at him. “There are six Clydesdales pulling an Amish dude across a field like he’s in a beer commercial, but no beer. I’m trapped in an Amish apocalypse.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“No, I’m not thirsty, you moron! I want to leave.” She glanced back out the window and scoffed again. “Here’s to you, Miss Amish drug lord hostage,” she mumbled then sang the words, “Real American heroes...”

Her face dropped into her hands, a startling shift from her bravado. A whimper slipped through her fingers and the ever-present ache he felt to soothe her doubled.

“Why me?” she cried. “You could have chosen anyone.”

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