Page 41 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Nate

I move through the day in a haze, every step mechanical, every breath something I force myself to take.

I shower, towel off, and throw on clothes that don’t matter. I eat because I know I should, not because I’m hungry. I walk into class, take notes I won’t remember, and answer questions I don’t even fully register.

It’s all autopilot. I don’t stop to analyze the way my body goes through the motions while my brain’s still fogged up, caught somewhere between shame and confusion, between denial and that low hum in the back of my skull that hasn’t left me alone since last night.

It’s not until lunchtime, when I finally drop onto the edge of a cold stone bench behind the rec building, that the realization hits me square in the chest with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.

I pause, blinking as I retrace my steps.

Not just this morning, but every damn thing I’ve done since I woke up. The order of it. The pacing.

I did everything the way he told me to.

I followed the exact routine Liam laid out for me, word for word, order for order.

I didn’t even hesitate. From the moment I hung up this morning, I fell into the instructions like they were law—shower, eat, move, act normal—and I obeyed them without questioning a goddamn thing.

Not once did I stop and think about why I was doing it.

I just moved like I was supposed to. Like he wanted me to.

The thought makes my gut twist so hard, it pulls a choked breath out of me. I plant my hands on the edge of the bench, the stone biting into my palms, and stare at the cracks in the sidewalk.

He didn’t just talk me down; he rewired me.

Fucking programmed me like I was some well-behaved dog waiting for my next command.

Because when Liam Callahan tells me to do something in that voice—that low, calm, possessive voice that wraps around my mind and squeezes until everything else goes quiet—I listen.

Good boy.

My chest tightens, the words ringing in my skull.

I swallow hard, trying to push the phrase down, trying to kill the heat that creeps into my cheeks even as a wave of shame rises to meet it.

I press my elbows to my knees and hunch forward, hiding my face in my hands like that’ll somehow reset everything, like it’ll give me a second to pretend I’m still in control of my own head.

I need to tell someone.

My hand twitches toward my pocket for my phone so I can text Sage.

I want to tell him everything, every fucked-up detail, spill it all before I lose my grip completely.

I want to see his name light up my screen and feel the safety in his voice, hear him curse me out for being this goddamn stupid.

I want him to coax me back into myself—because if anyone could, it’s him.

He’d see right through me, see the damage, grab me by the collar, and remind me who the fuck I used to be before all of this.

But I can’t because Liam told me not to.

That thought alone makes bile rise in my throat.

I drag in a breath and lean forward again, elbows resting on my knees once more, my head hanging low between my shoulders.

The silence around me doesn’t help. It just lets the noise in my head get louder.

The rational part of me wants to scream.

It tells me I’m still in control, that I’m not some brainwashed pet letting a psychopath crawl into my head and lock the door behind him.

But when I glance up again, all of that logic collapses under the weight of one simple image.

Liam.

He stands across the quad in casual conversation with someone I don’t recognize—some guy in a hoodie who’s laughing at whatever Liam just said.

It should be harmless. Just two guys talking between classes, sharing a joke before walking off in opposite directions.

There’s no tension, no flirtation, no body language to read into. It’s all innocent.

Until Liam reaches out.

His hand brushes the guy’s arm briefly, nothing worth noticing, but my vision goes red.

It’s not what he does, it’s not even how he does it.

It’s that he touches, that he stands there, smooth and untouched, acting like he didn’t destroy me last night, like he didn’t whisper filth and praise into my neck while my body begged for more.

That he looks so fucking unbothered by all of it. That he touched someone else.

My hands curl into fists, and my stomach clenches with a sudden, brutal surge of heat that turns quickly into something uglier. It sinks into my chest, tightening everything until I can’t breathe.

Jealousy. Possessive, irrational, completely unhinged jealousy.

It’s not the emotion that scares me—it’s how fast it hits, how natural it feels, like it’s always been there under the surface just waiting for a reason to rise.

He’s mine, not theirs.

The thought snaps through me so fast and violently that I flinch. I slam my eyes shut and drag in a breath, shoving my hand into my pocket for my phone, desperate for any kind of distraction to drown the poison in my head. I just need a fucking break—just one second to breathe.

My phone buzzes the second I pull it out.

Liam: There’s no need to be jealous, Pup.

The bottom drops out of my stomach, and I stop breathing. I’m too stunned, too rattled, too fucking seen. My eyes flick back to the quad, and sure enough, Liam’s no longer looking at the guy. He’s looking at me.

That calm expression hasn’t shifted, not a single crease in his brow, not a twitch of his mouth. He just watches me across the distance, one brow slightly raised, head tilted like he’s amused that I thought he wouldn’t notice.

Another buzz.

Liam: I’m yours, too.

My fingers tighten around the edges of my phone so hard that it’s a miracle I don’t shatter the screen. Every nerve in my body is screaming, but none of them are moving. I’m locked there, jaw slack, heart stumbling like it doesn’t know how to beat anymore.

That’s all it takes.

Two texts. A look across the quad, and he’s already back inside my head like he never left.

And I realize—right there, on that stone bench, with my pulse still thudding and my skin prickling with leftover want from a night I swore I’d pretend never happened—I never stood a chance against him.

I don’t look up again. I can’t. My whole body’s tense, already reacting, already sparking under the surface with the memory of his voice, the weight of his hands, the words he said that made me fucking forget everything.

But before I can even start untangling the mess Liam left behind in my head, before I can shove him out and pretend I’m still in control, my phone vibrates again. The screen lights up.

My stomach lurches, and I answer before I can stop myself.

“Nate,” she says, and her voice is satin wrapped around razor wire.

Sweet, familiar, too smooth. It rolls off her tongue like we’re close, like I’m her son and she’s my mother, and we’re not years past pretending anything between us is real.

“There you are. I was wondering when you’d pick up. I’ve missed you, baby.”

Baby .

It hits me in the teeth, slices down my throat, and lodges somewhere in the pit of my stomach. I close my eyes, the edges of my vision sharpening with the memory of every time she said it, every time she wrapped me in her smile while twisting the knife a little deeper.

I can’t do this.

Not now. Not when I already feel like I’m barely fucking holding on.

I grit my teeth. “Mom.”

She lets out a breathy sigh, like I’ve just relieved her of some great burden. “It’s been far too long since we had a chat. I know you’ve been so busy playing grown-up at that school, but honestly, sweetheart, don’t you think it’s time we talked properly?”

“I’m in the middle of something.” I keep my voice flat. I press my thumb against the side of the phone, imagining it sinking in, cracking the screen, cracking her voice. “I’ve got class soon.”

“Oh, you’ve always been such a terrible liar. You’re not in class; you’re avoiding me again.” Her voice is syrupy sweet, but underneath is the same tone she used when I was eight years old and crying because she said I was a disappointment.

“You’re not…” I stutter. “You’re not allowed to contact m—”

“I am your mother, don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do, Nathaniel.”

The sound of my name slithers through my ears, curling around my brain, suffocating, poisonous, like I’m trapped back in that fucking house all over again. I close my eyes, forcing my breathing to even, forcing my body not to react, forcing myself to just—

“Pup.”

The word cuts through everything.

His voice is soft. That same voice from last night, the same voice from the phone call. The one that slides down my spine like a caress, like something dangerous wrapped in velvet, like something meant to make me pliable.

The sick feeling in my stomach pauses, like someone just reached inside and flicked a fucking switch. I barely register my mother’s voice on the other end before I end the call.

Just like that.

Gone.

Silence.

I blink, my head still foggy, my pulse still too fast, and then I feel him standing in front of me, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, head tilted just slightly, his gaze locked on mine like he already knows every single fucking thing I’m trying to hide.

“Who was that?” he asks quietly.

I can’t speak with her voice still clinging to my ears.

Not with the way I can feel Liam reading me—every tick, every breath, every fucking flinch.

He doesn’t press, but he steps closer instead, brushing his knuckles along my cheek.

He tilts my chin up, the same way he did when he had me pinned and pliant and begging for more.

“Why won’t you look at me properly, Pup?”

My breath shakes, and I do everything I can to avoid his eyes. His thumb drags lightly over my bottom lip, his gaze focused and knowing. “Is it because you’re still sore from the way I fucked you last night?”

My entire body locks up.