Page 10 of The Burdens We Share (Satan’s Angels #3)

Ivory

Dallas didn’t bother me at all yesterday after our little face-off in the foyer.

In fact, I was relieved to have not run into him at all after that.

I stayed in the movie theater and he stayed wherever he was in my house.

I tried to force some vegetables down my throat yesterday to get some food in my stomach, and even then I didn’t see him in the kitchen.

Was the man a machine? Did he eat at all like a human being?

My effort at getting some nutrition was weak.

While I was snacking on cucumbers and tomatoes, the gears in my mind started moving and all I could think of was the fact that someone was in my house and that someone has an unhealthy and very dangerous obsession with me.

I was immediately nauseated and lost my appetite.

Now, I’m standing at the foot of my stairs mustering the courage to go up.

I’m too scared to go up to my room, but I know I’m gonna have to suck it up because I need to get ready for set and Dallas isn’t Nate.

He doesn’t know where things are in my room and we also aren’t casual enough for me to ask him to get something for me.

I can’t just live in the home theater forever.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice questions from behind me and I yelp and jump back.

I turn to find Dallas leaning against the wall next to the staircase. He looks intrigued but also relaxed. I’ve never seen him relaxed. “I was going upstairs to get ready for set.”

He crosses his arms over his chest like he just caught a child lying, “Didn’t look like you were doing much of anything. It looked to me like you were just standing there and staring at the steps rather than going up them.”

I give him a scowl, “I was thinking.”

He pushes off the wall and takes a step towards me, “I was doing some thinking myself. Do you want to know what I realized?”

I try to straighten my spine, attempting to appear confident, but it’s no use against this giant, “Not particularly, but I assume you’ll be telling me anyway. Because when have you ever needed permission?”

Dallas smirks and stops a foot away from me, leaning down to speak very close to my face in a low voice, “I realized that you haven’t been upstairs once since I’ve been here.

You’re sleeping in the theater and you were also in the theater two days ago when your friend,” he refers to Nate, “was here. And I know why?”

I roll my eyes, “I doubt it.”

“You’re afraid,” he calls me out.

I immediately recoil, my eyes lowering to the ground. Usually, I have a lot of fight in me. I don’t let people intimidate me and I sure as shit don’t let people win verbal battles against me. But this? When my stalker broke into my house he stole my resolve.

Dallas sighs and it has an angry note to it, “Why are you afraid to go upstairs?”

My voice comes out so weak it almost sounds like I’m whispering, “You know why.” He’s a smart man. He knows the reason, he just wants to hear me say it. He wants me to make myself vulnerable, more vulnerable, and I won’t allow it.

“I want you to say it,” he demands and there’s something about the tone he uses that almost makes me want to obey him immediately, but I clamp my jaw shut.

I keep my head lowered and he continues, “If you won’t, I will.

You’re afraid to go upstairs because the thought reminds you that someone was in your home, in your personal space.

You don’t feel safe in your own bedroom.

” How is it that this man can read me perfectly like I’m some kind of open book for him, but I can’t read anything going on in his head or on his face? It seems extremely unfair.

Betraying tears spring to my eyes but I refuse to cry in front of this man. I force them at bay and rub my eyes with my palms. I feel so extremely fatigued and I slept more than was necessary.

He must see something on my face because he sighs and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease slightly. He retreats a step from me and starts ascending the stairs without another word. “What are you doing?” I ask.

He looks down at me over his shoulder as he continues, “I’m going upstairs.”

I scoff. “I can see that. I have eyes.”

“You have legs too. Use them to follow me,” He glances down at my legs before he turns his head and continues.

I don’t know what it is, but he makes it very hard to deny him when he commands people to do things.

Maybe it’s just his strong aura. Either way, my legs betray me and I hesitantly start to follow him up the stairs on shaky legs.

The entire time, neither of us says a word and I can feel my cheeks growing hot.

It feels strange to be following Dallas upstairs to my bedroom.

He stops outside my door and turns the silver knob, pushing it open. I make no move to enter the room. Instead, I shift on anxious legs. He sighs, “Your room is perfectly safe.”

I nod, knowing I’m just being dramatic. I take a step forward and peek my head inside. I’m acting like my stalker is just gonna pop out from under my bed like the boogeyman. I’m being ridiculous.

Dallas catches me off guard by entering my room and making a show of looking around.

Just his silhouette in the doorway shifts the mood of the room.

He’s making me feel like I’m a child who’s afraid of the dark rather than a woman who lives alone and whose house was broken into.

I have every right to be afraid. “You don’t have to do that,” I murmur, distaste in my voice.

He stops in the middle of my room and just the sight of this tall and very intimidating man standing on a pink fluffy area rug is almost laughable to me.

Under different circumstances I might actually laugh.

There would be no other circumstance in which Dallas would be in my bedroom though.

“Would it make you feel safer if I did?” That shouldn’t make me feel better. But it does.

I shrug, “The security system helps. I’m not scared he’s in here or something. Just being in here and knowing that someone invaded my space like that freaks me out,” I admit.

He sighs and keeps his mouth shut. I know I’m being a little emotional and some guys just can’t handle the emotions of women.

Dallas doesn’t strike me as the type of man who can deal with emotions.

His or anyone else’s. His eyes roam my bedroom and I watch him.

This isn’t his first time in my pink bedroom.

He was in here earlier today to install the security panel.

I wonder what thoughts are going through his head as he takes in my room.

I’m sure color of any kind doesn’t appeal to him.

I bet he hates this room. If I had to guess, I’d say his house is probably all black like his soul.

He focuses on one thing and I look at it too. Dallas’ brows are drawn together, focused on the picture that rests on the glass coffee table in the corner of my room in front of my pink suede couch. The photo is of me and my dad. I suck in a small breath and speak up, “I should really get ready.”

My voice draws his attention and he shifts his focus back to me. He nods and takes a step towards the door. Just before he steps out completely and closes the door behind him, he pokes his head back in and announces, “I’ll be downstairs waiting.” Of course he will. Watching. Protecting.

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I DESCEND THE STAIRS and find Dallas waiting for me at the bottom. He’s typing out a text on his phone and I notice that he’s wearing his suit jacket. Damn. I thought Dallas was hot with his dress shirt, but the whole suit?

He looks up at me and immediately takes me in from head to toe.

I feel my cheeks flush under his gaze and suddenly I’m feeling regretful that I decided to wear a white tennis skirt and light gray tank top.

Initially, I wanted to wear some baggier clothes that wouldn’t showcase my body too much considering my recent internal struggles, but I didn’t want the girls to make a big deal out of it, the perceptive bitches.

Dallas’ gaze almost looks hungry, but then again, I’m not sure if I’m reading him wrong because he’s insufferably impossible to read.

Once I land at the bottom step, he nods towards the front door with his chin, “Ready?”

I nod and I’m about to take the last step but he pauses, “Did you eat today?”

I suddenly feel so beyond uncomfortable. “Yeah, I ate earlier.”

He gives me a suspicious look, “Are you sure? Because I’ve been downstairs all day and I didn’t see you in the kitchen once.”

I roll my eyes at him, playing the part of the unaffected rockstar, “I’m pretty sure I would remember eating a meal. Which I do, so thanks for the concern but it isn’t necessary. I ate while you were installing the alarm system.”

He looks like he wants to add something else, but decides better of it. “Okay. Let’s go. If you’re late Selene is going to kill us both.”

I grin, “Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared of Selene.”

Dallas shakes his head and starts for the door. I follow him the whole way. He opens the door for me and I step outside. “Who isn’t scared of Selene?” He asks my back.

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THE SET IS AMAZING. I didn’t expect movie production to begin so fast considering these things take time, but the movie script was written in forty-eight hours according to Selene.

Apparently Martin loved our story so much that he omitted sleep from his life for a week to plan every last detail and get the production going.

I can’t say I blame him because we are pretty fucking awesome.

Dallas makes it past security and parks in the designated spots for the cast. The ride was silent between us and the awkward tension made my skin crawl but I did my best to remain still. Dallas is like one of those animals that can smell fear and I didn’t want to give him a scent to follow.