Page 133 of Lawton

Sure, she'd need a new poster, but hey, it wouldn't be that hard. The way it looked, she had a real eye for that sort of thing.

I made a sound of disgust. She could shiver all she wanted. I wasn't buying it. Not anymore.

But then, she kept on shivering. And I felt the first break in my resolve.

I had to remind myself that the basement was cool, but not freezing. I was down here, too, and I barely noticed it. Then again, Iwaswearing a hell of a lot more clothing than she was. And she was a girl. Girls were always cold.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, she shivered in her sleep. Whenever that happened, I'd pull her close and warm her skin, stroking her hair until she grew quiet and still. There was a part of me – a very stupid part of me – that wanted to do that now.

God, I was such a dumb-ass.

As I watched, she lifted her knees and tucked them tight against her chest. For warmth? Or for modesty? Either way, the effort was a waste. All it did was give me a nice view of her tight ass-cheeks, peeking out from those little black panties.

She had a nice ass. Once, she'd joked about wanting a spanking. Who knows? Maybe it hadn't been a joke. Maybe I'd try it now and see what played out.

I glanced away. Yeah, I was a monster, alright.

The next time she shivered, the heels of her feet slipped, sliding off the smooth surface of the wooden seat. With a sound of frustration, she tried again. And another time after that.

I forced myself to watch, pretending that the act didn't bother me, pretending that I was smarter – and yeah, colder – than the dumb-shit who'd carried her inside on the night of my party.

But the longer I watched, the harder it got. A voice in my head whispered, "What if it's not an act?"

It had to be. With Chloe, everything was. I'd seen that for myself.

But what if it wasn't? Something in my heart twisted. In that case, I didn't deserve to live. I tried to remember everything that she'd done. She'd played me. She'd tricked me. She'd set me up. Hell, she was probably still doing it now.

When her feet slipped again, she gave it up. With a ragged sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned back, resting her head against the back of the chair.

She was still trembling.

It was killing me. I had to ask, "You want a blanket?"

She didn't open her eyes. "Fuck off."

I tried to keep my voice as cold as she looked. "I'll take that as a no."

"Whatever."

It hurt like hell, but I kept on watching, ignoring the doubts that were piling up. When she grew quiet and still, I began to worry. I could see her breathing, but she still hadn't moved.

"Hey," I said.

No response.

Softer now. "Chloe?"

When she still didn't answer, I couldn't stop myself. I moved toward the chair and asked, "Are you okay?"

When she had no reaction, I felt the first hint of panic. I knelt beside her and touched her face. Her skin was cool but not dangerously cold. Still, I didn't like it. I felt for her neck and checked her pulse. It was fine, nice and steady.

I blew out a long, quiet breath. She was fine. Everything was fine.

At the thought, I almost laughed. Nothing was fine. This was so messed up, it gave the words "not fine" a whole new meaning.

I leaned closer and studied her face. Her lips were parted, and her forehead, lined with frustration just a few minutes earlier, was smooth and even, like she was far away in a happier place.

Was she asleep? She looked like it. But what if she wasn't? What if it was something worse? If I let this go too far, I'd never forgive myself.