Page 14

A WARNING WITHOUT WORDS

MILA

I shouldn’t be here. Not after tonight. Not when I’m still humming with what Marco said.

A thick tang of chemicals hangs in the air. It coats my tongue as I try to talk myself from this ledge. If I were rational, I would have gone back to the dorm and crawled into bed. But like every other day this week, I find myself drawn to Montgomery Psychiatric Ward.

To Alex.

Why do I keep doing this?

Marco is trying to get in my head. Thinking if he plants doubt, it will be easier to manipulate me into taking him back. And here I am, feeding into it.

Alex has been locked inside Montgomery for years. He hasn’t spoken a word since his trial. There’s no way he was involved in Oxy’s attack. It’s not possible.

Except…

What do I really know about Alex Lancaster?

That he was a star basketball player in high school? That he’s always been gorgeous and adored by the female population in Bristal?

Teal always said he was nicer than most of the guys born and raised Sigma Sin, but that was before his trial scarred him.

Who is he now?

The pieces he’s shown me are fragments of a shattered mind. Darkness that blanches out all light. And yet, I see those pieces, and I understand Alex on a level I don’t think most people can swallow.

Alex is complicated. Dangerous. Still, I refuse to accept what Marco is saying at face value. If Alex was involved, there must be a reason.

The back of my neck prickles as I walk the quiet hall. The stench of vomit hangs heavy in the air, and when I pass by an open door, I see two orderlies mopping the floor. Behind them, a man rocks back and forth in his chair. With each sway, it knocks the wall, no doubt echoing on the other side.

It’s no wonder Alex’s mind is no clearer now than when he was admitted to Montgomery. Something sick permeates these walls, and it’s not because of the patients. It’s something deeper. Darker. Like the building itself is haunted.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it.

If I had to guess, it’s one of my roommates wondering where I disappeared to. Or Marco trying to convince me to meet up with him.

Right now, none of that matters. I need to see Alex.

An unsettling hum ripples like electricity, and I swear I can taste the metallic tang of blood.

Of open wounds and bleeding truth.

Of change .

When I finally reach Alex’s door, I find it cracked like I usually do. A silent invitation I keep accepting.

“Alex?” His name comes out choked as I peel the door wider.

He’s not in his usual spot, and his bed is made, telling me he hasn’t bothered trying to sleep tonight, even if it’s well past two in the morning.

The usual clutter around his bed has been straightened, and his nightstand is missing the familiar stack of books.

At first glance, my stomach sinks thinking he might have left.

Until a trickle of steam slithers out from under the bathroom door, stopping me in my tracks.

The fog is thick with the scent of shaving cream and cologne.

The scent has my blood thundering between my temples as I pause at the door. To know he’s showering.

Shit, I can’t be thinking about him naked.

The bathroom door swings open before I get the chance to bail, and a heavy cloud of citrus and soap-scented steam envelopes me. It curls out from behind Alex’s broad shoulders, caressing my skin like I wish he would.

Alex slips his T-shirt over his still-damp chest, and I only get a fleeting glance of his scarred muscles before they’re hidden by the fabric.

My gaze moves to his strong hands tugging the hem of his shirt. To the gray sweats that hang low on his hips. And when my eyes snap back to his, my cheeks burn.

Alex’s expression is a blank slate as always. Completely stoic and unsurprised.

While my mind reels with Marco’s words. “You think your new boyfriend is better than me?”

Alex definitely isn’t my boyfriend. He barely looks at me with a hint of interest. But god, do I wish he would right now .

“Sorry, it’s late.” I take a step back, suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing and how good he smells. “I just came to check on you.”

I wonder if he’s perceptive enough to see I’m lying. If so, he doesn’t let it show. He barely blinks as his hazel eyes watch me. Unlike his sister, whose nose and lips are almost pixie-like, Alex’s lips are full, and the ridges of his eyebrows are strong. Nothing about him is gentle or soft.

“Patience said you didn’t let her see you this morning, so she was worried.”

That part is true.

Patience stormed around the dorm room all afternoon complaining about it.

“It seems you’re fine though. Sorry for interrupting you.” I take another step back, but this time, he mirrors me with a step closer.

I crane my neck to meet his stare. I’m not short, but his height forces my neck to stretch.

“Not everyone is who you think they are.” Marco’s warning echoes.

“Patience isn’t why I really came,” I admit, swallowing hard.

Alex’s expression doesn’t crack, but there’s a question in his eyes. He tells me more with those golden flecks than most people say in a lifetime.

“I talked to Marco tonight.”

His jaw ticks, and his shoulders stiffen. He doesn’t like me talking to Marco for whatever reason.

“Marco said something happened to Oxy, and that I should be careful who I trust. He made it sound like he was talking about you. But that doesn’t make sense because you’ve been locked in here, right? ”

I don’t expect Alex to answer, but it hangs between us either way.

My doubt bleeds with what I don’t want to admit to myself. After all, I’ve seen the monster who lives inside Alex. The one who held a pencil to a man’s throat without a flicker of hesitation.

“You couldn’t have done it.” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself.

I try to take another step back, but Alex stops me this time. He snags my hand with a tug, and the sudden movement pulls me to his chest. Hard enough that we stumble into the foggy bathroom behind him.

My palms grip his sides as I balance myself, and my heart dulls all other noise. I meet his stare, terrified.

For wanting him.

For seeing him. Who he really is.

For not fearing his violence.

My fingers twitch, and it snaps him out of his thoughts, like he didn’t realize I was holding onto him until that second. Alex spins me around, pinning my hips to the counter. My hands catch on either side of the sink, with his palms planted over them.

Was it my touch that set him off?

Through the foggy mirror, he’s nothing more than a shadow of a reflection behind me, holding me in place. Every hard plane of his body is tight against mine. Without moving, he offers a clear warning without words.

Alex buries so much in his silence.

The truth.

His intentions.

But when I look close enough, I see it. Darkness that lives and breathes. It begs to get out .

It holds me hostage now. And I realize in this moment that I don’t care. I want it. I want him .

Daring to hold stares with the shadow in the foggy mirror, I flip my hands over on the cool countertop, bringing us palm-to-palm.

Ever so slowly, I curl my hands, raking my nails along the underside of his fingertips.

He shivers as I test the boundary. And when his fingers splay wider, I allow mine to twine with his.

I tease the limit, brushing my thumbs over him. Smooth skin on one hand. Scars on the other. Two sides to a man who has me addicted.

Our hands lace, and I wish I could make him understand what his company means to me.

My words tonight might have felt like accusations, but I don’t fear him.

I need him. The same way I sense he needs me when he leans closer to breathe me in.

When his hips rock, and I feel the thickness of his erection press against my ass.

I’m going to break.

I’ve already broken for this man. If only he’d let down his guard and pick up the pieces.

“Alex.” His name is a moan.

A need.

A question I wish he’d answer.

Can we have this?

I unlace our fingers and roll my hands so it’s mine holding his to the counter now. The grumble in his chest has my back arching—my skin humming.

But the moment I tip my head back against his chest and look up at him, his gaze becomes frighteningly black. The connection snaps whatever tether was pulled tight, and he grabs my wrists again, pinning my hands down. Anger radiates from him.

He shakes his head only once, and I read the warning loud and clear. He’s at that edge of control, silently begging me not to test him.

Alex lifts a hand to my hair, forcing my attention back to the mirror. We’re two waves crashing in an ocean, breaking on each other.

“Please, Alex,” I whisper, staring at his blurry shape. “What are we doing?”

Alex presses close, dropping his nose to the top of my head and breathing me in again. But it’s not sweet this time. He’s a predator sizing me up. Deciding the easiest way to swallow me whole.

Alex lifts a hand, grazing the side of my throat with his fingertips. His touch is barely a whisper on my skin. It tickles and burns and sends an icy chill down my spine all at the same time.

He extends his hand to the mirror in front of us and starts to slowly drag a finger through the condensation, drawing letter after letter.

The deeply scarred flesh that stretches his forearm is close enough for me to get a good look at it.

I always assumed his burns were caused by fire, but I’ll never forget what flames do to skin when the smell of it holds my nightmares hostage.

Seeing Alex’s scars now, I realize he was marked by something else.

Boiling water?

A hot iron?

How many things cause that deep of damage?

My breath races.

My heart is a hummingbird’s song beneath my ribs.

Alex’s hips pin me to the counter. So hard, my bones hurt. But I don’t pull away. I don’t fight him.

I came here for him .

I watch as he writes me a message on the dewy mirror’s surface. The first word is already disappearing as he finishes the last. His hazel eyes watch me through the clean lines of the letters, and I’m met with living, breathing rage from a man people write off as dead.

When he finally drops his hand, I read his message.

You shouldn’t have come here.

Swallowing hard, I read it again.

My mouth falls open to speak, but I don’t get the chance.

With one swift move, Alex practically picks me up and carries me from his room.

He sets me on my feet just outside it, and when I spin to argue, I barely get a final look at his cold, practiced stare before the door slams in my face, and I’m left alone in the empty hallway.