Page 24 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

DANTE

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No.

No. No. No. No. No. No!

This is wrong. This is all wrong.

What even happened?

We were supposed to go out into the forest. We were supposed to lay out the blanket and watch the stars like we used to. I was going to hold her and...

But she was talking so fast and somehow it spiraled, and I got lost. My brain froze when it realized she was walking away. She was leaving me. It was eight years ago all over again, only this time she was telling me to stay away from her.

Stay. Away.

The words slam against the hollows of my skull, echoes through the chambers until it’s reverberating through my marrow.

Why would she say that?

Why the fuck would she say that?

She doesn’t mean it.

She can’t .

She was angry. Maybe scared. I pushed too hard. I did too much. I fucking scared her.

“Fuck!”

My fingers clamp into my hair and I pull like that might eject the memories of her standing there, eyes shiny with tears and betrayal.

And I ... I just stood there.

I didn’t stop her.

I couldn’t move.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

But she looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was some monster who crushed her heart.

Maybe I did.

I can’t breathe.

My chest is caving in. Crushing me. Suffocating me. But I deserve it. I ruin everything. I always ruin everything. I open my mouth and out comes poison that kills. Kills me. Kills Leila.

I can’t do this again.

I can’t go back to that silence. That emptiness. I can’t go back to the loneliness where her laughter used to echo.

I can’t go back to no longer existing.

I rock on my hunches. Heel toe. Heel toe. Palms crush my skull as the pounding rises to fill my ears with the screaming of pain. I squeeze until I see stars and still the voices roar. All of them ugly and mine.

You’re a monster. She saw it.

You ruined it. Just like before.

No one will ever love you.

She’s never coming back.

You don’t deserve her.

But ... she’s mine.

She can’t leave me.

Not again. Not this time. If she walks away, I’ll be nothing all over again. I’ll die. Not metaphorically. I have no other reason to live.

I fall to my knees against the floorboards just over where Leila is getting ready for bed. Where she’s brushing her teeth and smearing my cum on her face.

She doesn’t get to leave me. Not again. She can beg and scream, and threaten to kill me, but I would rather die than live another second without her.

She doesn’t understand that. Or maybe, she doesn’t care. But I’m not letting her go. She’s going to learn to love me.

No matter what I have to do to convince her.

I shove to my feet and move to the makeshift table in the corner and lift my next gift. I examine the contents. Smile to myself.

My pretty girl is going to be mine .

I’ll win her over.

We have seven days, after all. Seven more gifts as tokens of my eternal devotion to her. To us. I will prove to her that she needs me. That I am the only man alive who will kill for her. Who has blood on his hands for her.

Tonight, I’ll let her rest. Let her think she’s safe.

Tomorrow, the games continue as scheduled.

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I leave her gift on the porch with a wild dandelion placed on top.

I set it on the porch beam like the candy apple, directly in view so she can’t miss the sunlight glinting off the glass.

It does dawn on me that maybe this is too much, that maybe, I’m going too far, but an act of love is an act of love. It’s proof of my commitment. Leila will get it. She’ll understand.

But maybe I should have left a note...

Abandoning the idea, I start the walk to my bike. The air is colder. Crisper. There’s a nip that has me tugging my jacket together and zipping it up. My boots crunch on leaves and twigs as I wander through the trees, admiring the early morning sun glinting through the knotted branches.

I think maybe I’ll make this a thing. Early morning walks.

Maybe I can convince Leila to come with me.

It’s so quiet and peaceful. I think she’d like it.

We could walk to town, hand in hand, and grab coffee before I drop her off at work — if she still wants to work.

We could take the baby for morning walks when we have one.

Take it pumpkin picking and building leaf piles to jump in.

I’m unsure just how many I’d like. Definitely one for sure. Maybe two. I’ll let Leila decide on the rest.

I exhale the lungful of cool autumn and redirect my thoughts to the bigger problem at hand — convincing Leila she belongs with me.

I didn’t do a very good job of that yesterday, but I’m going to prove to her that this isn’t a prank. I’m not joking or using her. I am fully dedicated to our future. I will see this through.

She’s already at the bank when I pull up in my usual spot. The lights are on and I can see her moving around behind the desk with quick efficiency. Her head comes up with the growl of my engine and I watch her eyes narrow and her jaw tense.

I did consider not letting her see me. Let her continue thinking she’s won, but she hasn’t and she won’t. Hiding will only solidify her fears that she was right in all her accusations .

So, I make sure she can see me. See that I’m not fucking hiding. Hell, I don’t even care if she calls the non-brother. Let him try and keep me from her.

I cut the engine and get comfortable. Knowing Leila, she will either confront me or ignore me. I’m fine with either. We have nine whole hours to figure this out.

But Leila already seems to have when she snatches up a beige tote and marches straight for me. Her strides are anger fueled, mirroring the inferno snapping behind those piercing green eyes.

I don’t dismount. I remain casually in my seat, posture as relaxed as I can when my stomach is in turmoil.

What if she tells me to leave?

What if she didn’t like my gift?

There are so many outcomes to her charged approach.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Uh oh...

The tote slams into my chest with the weight of a small bowling ball. It nearly knocks the wind from my lungs and me off my bike. I barely manage to grab it before the contents spill free.

“This needs to stop,” she snaps, poking the spot she’d struck with a finger. “No more weird shit on my porch. I swear to God...” she breaks off to take what she probably thought would be a calming breath, but she still looks pissed when she fixes her eyes back on me. “What the fuck is this?”

I glance down at the gold lid peeking out of the bag. Then back at her.

“A jar.”

Her lips mash together like she’s fighting back her temper. “What’s in the jar?”

I thought it was pretty obvious, but I can see how it would be confusing.

“Condoms.”

“Used!” She winces at the ringing amplification of her snarl. Her gaze darts around us to make sure no one else heard her outburst. “Used condoms,” she hisses. “Why the fuck are you leaving a jar of used condoms on my porch?”

Okay, maybe I should have left a note. Clearly, my motives weren’t clear.

“Because I thought of you every time I filled one.”

Her lashes flutter. “There’s like hundreds in there.”

I nod. “I think about you a lot.”

A sweet, warm pink fills her cheeks that remind me of when she laughs too hard, or when she cums. It brightens her eyes. Gives them a soft glow that makes me think she finally sees it.

I get excited when she takes a step closer. It bubbles in my chest as she leans in .

“Stop it. This isn’t normal behavior.”

She can’t see it, but I frown. “Who gives a fuck about normal?”

“Me! I do. These things you keep leaving me, make no sense. They’re weird and ... terrifying. I don’t understand them.”

For a long moment, I can only stare at her.

Hurt.

Confused.

These are things she wants. I know she sees them for what they are.

“They’re for you,” I murmur.

“I don’t get them,” she repeats. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

I could tell her the truth, but it will all make sense in seven days. It’s too early to ruin the surprise.

“I want you,” I tell her gently.

I see her falter. I see the uncertainty and doubt clouding those beautiful eyes.

“No. I don’t trust you. Until you show me your face, nothing you say or do is going to change my mind.”

I don’t try to.

I don’t say a word when she snaps on her heels and stalks back to the bank. I remain on my bike, cradling months of effort and dedication. Having a gift thrown back in my face leaves a sour taste in my mouth I refuse to swallow, but I’m not deterred.

After all, it doesn’t matter what she says on this matter. She’s going to be mine one way or another. I just need to be patient a few more days.

I tie up the cloth straps on the tote and deposit it on the hood of her car. No one’s going to touch it. Though, I am curious what they would think if someone did.

Bet they would be flattered, unlike some people.

I cast a narrowed side eye in the direction of the bank.

So rude.

I put a lot of energy and thought into that gift. Took a lot out of me ... literally.

I rock my head slowly from side to side, disappointed. But it’s fine. I’m a big boy. I can take a rejection.

I’m about to exhale and pull out my phone to check the board for any jobs I can do easily from my phone when I hear a perky, “Excuse me?”

Startled, I turn my head in the direction of the voice and find myself staring at a pint-sized teenager brandishing a phone and a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Sleek, dark strands are combed back into a shiny, black waterfall down her back, over a soft, wool sweater that is stretched to capacity across an incredibly generous chest .

I immediately jerk my gaze back to her round face and flushed cheeks, suspicions prickling.

“Yeah?” I mumble, the hesitance unmistakable in my tone.

Eyes the warm puddles of melted chocolate sweep along the edges of my helmet, trace the dome like she’s trying to find a way under.

It’s such a predatory gleam I can’t stop the urge to fold my arms, especially when she nibbles on her bottom lip and lets her heavy lashes trail over me to settle . .. on my crotch.

Where is her parental unit? Why was she not taught to never talk to strangers?

“Are you lost?” I mumble, casting a glance over and along the sidewalk for a responsible adult.

“You’re not from town, are you?” she purrs in a tone I used to hear a lot in high school from the cheerleaders’ table. It’s accompanied by a lazy little sway from side to side. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

That interrupts my searching to focus entirely on her. “What about?”

A shoulder jerks up in the direction of her ear. The hem of her sweater inches over the waistband of her jeans to reveal a hint of pale, smooth belly.

“That you’re probably dangerous.” Despite the weight of those words, my unwanted companion grins slyly. “Are you? ”

“I could be. Probably best if you hurried away.”

She does the exact opposite.

She drifts a step closer. Too close. The scent of her floral shampoo hits me through the plastic shield between us, but I’m so startled by her audacity that I’m not quick enough when she reaches over and runs a pink tipped nail along my throttle.

“I’ve always wanted to ride one of these.”

In the several weeks that I’ve claimed this parking spot as my own, I’ve had the odd busybody amble over and prod me with questions. I’ve had young girls snap pictures and giggle. I’ve had men amble over and compliment me on my ride.

Not a single soul has ever touched my baby or behaved like this is some weird meet cute romcom. This interaction is prickling all the hairs along my neck ... and not in a good way.

I get the fascination.

I’ve seen the thirst traps and I’m vaguely amused by it, but the sheer nerve of this girl has flabbergasted me.

“You shouldn’t touch other people’s stuff,” I warn her, wishing I could simply pluck my bike up and hug it to my chest protectively.

The best I can do is resist the urge to smack her hand away.

There isn’t even a flicker of guilt or shame in her expression as she bats her thick lashes and drawls, “Can I take a picture? ”

It’s on my tongue to tell her no, but she’s already spun on her heels, presenting me with her back.

Her hair swings like a glossy cape and brushes my arm.

It’s all the warning I’m given before she’s pressed right into my side, head cocked towards mine, phone in the air with one hand.

I catch a brief glimpse of our combined faces in the screen like some selfie-taking couple.

I start to rear back, tilting my body away from her while keeping my balance on my bike, but I hear the snap as she gets her photo.

“My friends will be so jealous,” she’s saying, but not moving. She’s still wedged into my side, face tilted back on my shoulder. “They’d simply die if you give me a ride.”