Page 58 of Scream Little Sister

“Sorry,” I mutter.

He cocks his head while keeping his hold on me. His icy demeanor hasn’t melted a centimeter. I hate how he hides his emotions from me. It’s the equivalent of him holding me at arm’s length.

“Arms up.” Ryder’s deep voice draws me out of my spiraling thoughts.

“I can do it myself, really,” I say.

Ryder raises an eyebrow and taps my side with an impatient finger.

I groan and raise my arms above my head, holding as still as I can while he works the material to my chest. He has some difficulty getting the hoodie over my breasts, and I bite my bottom lip while he raises the material one inch at a time.

To my embarrassment, when the hoodie finally comes free, my shirt comes right along with it, leaving me standing before him—topless. His eyes widen a fraction. He’s just as shocked as I am as he stares at my breasts.

“Jesus!” I gasp and cover myself with my arm, then snatch the clothes out of his grip with my free hand.

Ryder backs away, his shock wearing off. I turn my back to him and unravel my shirt from the hoodie.

“Sleep in whatever room you want,” Ryder says, “but stay out of my bedroom.”

I turn after yanking my shirt on, but Ryder has already disappeared, his footsteps fading until I can’t hear them anymore.

“How will I know which one is yours?” I yell.

Silence meets my question.

After rummaging around the kitchen for something to snack on, I find Starbursts hidden behind two lonesome Vienna sausage cans in the cabinet. How Ryder has survived with an empty kitchen, I will never know.

I pop a pink Starburst into my mouth and suck on the candy with a low moan. It’s not enough to stave off the hunger pangs, but this will have to do until Ryder takes me home in the morning. I didn’t have a chance to eat at the restaurant with Justin, which I’m not upset about. The man would have ordered a meal I can’t have or don’t like.

Ryder’s kitchen has the same personality as the front of the home—chipped paint in the same color scheme, and rooster decorations that aren't like him at all. If it weren’t for the living room full of helmets and LED lights, I wouldn’t think this is Ryder’s house at all.

I chew on the Starburst and check my phone for the first time since stepping foot in the house.

Eighty missed calls.

Ten voicemails.

Thirty unopened text messages.

I wince.

Justin and Dad have been trying to get ahold of me. Justin more so than my father. My thumb hovers over Dad’s name on the text messages, but I don’t know if I can read them right now. It’ll be bad.

I can already imagine what my father and Justin have been saying. Dad is likely scolding me for hurting Justin and running away from him. He’ll remind me how it’s my duty and place to serve my husband. Then he’ll sprinkle in a hefty dose of shaming me for embarrassing him.

Justin will be more passive-aggressive. He’ll warn me that we’re going to have a littletalkabout what happened. It’ll all be silky words, aimed to relax me, but in truth, it’s a disguise to hide the malicious nature that is Justin. He and I both know it won’t be just atalk. I fear it’ll end up with him finishing what he started, and this time I won’t be able to get away.

My heart leaps into my throat as my phone vibrates. The screen displays an incoming call from Justin. The shrill ringtone blasts, killing the silence. I check my surroundings, ensuring Ryder hasn’t joined me in the living room without my knowing. Not that he would extend any hospitality by entertaining me as his guest. He’d likely give me the cold shoulder, maybe even give me the stink eye as Justin continues blowing up my phone.

The screen returns to its normal setting, and I barely have time to breathe a sigh of relief before Justin calls again. I stare at the screen, counting the seconds ticking by. It feels like forever before the call ends and sends Justin to voicemail. I hold my breath, waiting for him to call me again.

My phone vibrates and chirps with a new voicemail.

With a trembling finger, I click it and listen.

“I can be a patient man, Madison,”Justin says,“but you’re pushing it. Answer the fucking phone.”

I barely exit the voicemail before his name pops up again. The ringtone echoes in the room, increasing my panic. My hold on the phone slips, and I accidentally touch the screen, sending Justin to voicemail.