Page 44 of Loving the Tormentor

"You—" I scratch my throat, suddenly aware of every single sensation in my body. Specifically, the electricity from his touch on my uniform skirt. "I never gave you my number. I never agreed to open a conversation."

"Ooooh," he says, pretending to finally understand something. "Because that's how it works between us, isn't it? I ask for permission, and once you agree, I proceed. Funny, that’s not how I remember it."

I gulp, lick my lips, and search for the courage I’ve never truly had. As always, it's hidden somewhere too deep for me to dig out, and I hate myself for it. So when I push out my retort, it sounds weak, manufactured, and even I don’t believe it.

"There's no specific way it works, because there's nous." My heart beats in my ears, following the speed of the windshield wipers. "What happened last week… I never want that to happen again."

It was so good and yet so terrible. How could I possibly describe it? The memory burns through me to my core, igniting a whole new craving within me, but it also makes me hate him deeply.

"Nyx,what happened last week," he repeats my exact words, "is going to happen again. Whether you're a willing participant isn’t really my problem."

Even when he sounds serious, there's a taunting superiority in his voice. Despite struggling to hear him well in this exact moment, I read it so clearly in that faint lift at the corner of his mouth. In the tip of his tongue coming to rest right at the bottom of his top front teeth for a split second after his last word. It's completely subconscious, not like the deliberate jabs he's capable of.

No one understands how intimate it feels to read people's lips, even with a man I'm supposed to be wary of. It's those unintentional little quirks about him that create a storm of feelings I’m not capable of dealing with. I don't know if I notice them because I've been able to see him so closely in the last week, or because I spent years observing videos and photos of him online, watching his concerts, obsessing over someone I had no idea was the devil.

"I have a boyfriend." The statement sounds like bullshit, even to myself.

Is that my only defense? Fuck. I add one more for good measure.

"And I don't want anything to happen between us. Period. Don't cross a line, Achilles, or I'll be the one escalating this. Turn right here, then take the first left. You can drop me there."

He turns right, his Range Rover disgustingly at odds with our surroundings now that we're on the North Shore. A left, and we're at the entrance of the trailer park. I don't need him to know which mobile home is mine.

A laugh bursts out of him, but I don't care. I want to open the door, ready to get out, but he doesn't slow down.

"Stop the car," I order.

He enters the park and starts driving between the homes. Asphalt turns into gravel and then into dirt.

"Escalate this?" he asks innocently. "What are you going to do, pretty girl? Go to the police?" His smirk makes me want to jump out of the moving car. "See, you don't want to do that with me because I have a lot of power over them. I have a lot of power,period." He imitates my voice, then it switches to something much more chilling. "Too much power for anyone to stay sane, Nyx, I promise you that. Don't tempt me to actually show you how much. Which one is yours?"

He asks the last question in the same tone, keeping me in that state of fear, meaning my response comes out automatically without me having any control over it, as if my body considers it the only way out of this situation.

"That one," I blurt out, pointing behind me at the one he just drove past. "Just stop the car, please."

A serene smile replaces the viciousness on his face as he slows down, shifts gears, and puts his forearm on the back of my seat. My fingers dig into my violin case as he looks behind and starts reversing. His strong arm is right next to my face even after he stops.

"You're home," he murmurs tauntingly.

I'm out of breath from the sheer panic, and when my thoughts finally fall back into place, fury explodes in my chest.

"Fuck you," I hiss, opening the door.

I slam the door, my case almost getting caught in it. The rain has slowed, but it's still tapping against my skull as I walk through the mud in front of my home. I've turned my back to him, so I don't hear well when his door slams shut. I only realize he followed me when his hand lands on my shoulder, tearing a surprised gasp from my throat.

"Leave me alone!"

"I preferred you a lot more when you were a groupie." He huffs, his eyebrows rising and falling sharply, as if I'm the annoying one here. "Listen, Nyx. We don't have to make this so hard. I didn't want you scared today." Which implies that there are moments he does want me scared. "I was trying to be nice."

"Thatwas you being nice?" I snap. "Your version of nice is my version of traumatizing."

"You know," he says with a calmness that makes me shiver. "You have yet to experience what we're really like on our side of town, but I can simplify it for you." He takes a threatening step toward me, and I take one back, feeling the steps to my door pressing against my calves.

"I grew up in a world where there's nothing I don't get. If I want it, it's mine. You couldn't possibly imagine how I've lived my life. People bend to my will because they don't have a choice. It's impossible to refuse anything to people like me."

I'm pretty sure his smile is meant to be reassuring, but it's just plain creepy.

"My suggestion is to give me what I want. Because I enjoy you scared. Do you understand that? I like seeing you helpless and trembling. I loved hearing your little whimpers when I had you in my hands."