Page 23 of The Truths We Burn

I try not to look at the way his thighs flex as he straddles the bike, how big and strong they look gripping the machine. It’s a flaw in me for giving in to the temptation, but I am only human, and it’s hard considering even when he’s wearing that thick hoodie, you can tell he is built beneath.

“Heard about it?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, “Oh, please, give me a break.”

If he thinks he’s going to front like he wasn’t behind it, he has another think coming. I am the sovereign of seeing past people’s bullshit.

“He must have pissed someone off, it would seem. Not hard to fathom when you think about it—he has a pretty big mouth on him. Probably ran it to the wrong person this time.”

“Cut the shit, Van Doren. We both know it was you and your looney bin–bound friends. No need to lie about it.”

His match moves across his lips, shifting with his smirk. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I didn’t even know the homecoming parade was today.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, tossing my thick curls over my shoulder as I walk closer to his stationary form.

“Does it get you off? Is that why you all do it?” I prod, wanting to see just how far I can tip the scales of his temper. See just what it takes to enter the bad side of one of the infamous Hollow Boys.

“I read somewhere that causing harm is the only way psychopaths can get off. Do you all go back to your spooky mansions and jerk each other off thinking about all the schizoid shit you do?”

There is a twitch.

It’s slight, and I barely catch it, but his hand jerks just a bit while I talk. It’s in his square jaw too, right near his cheekbone—it tightens before he releases it, meaning I’ve scored a hole in one.

I go from a girl he doesn’t like to a girl hereallydoesn’t like.

My eyes follow his tongue as it rolls in front of his teeth, his leg swinging over the bike so he’s standing up at his full height.

“Careful, princess.” He lifts his helmet upwards, pointing in my direction and putting it down before he walks closer. “Your friends and boyfriend are not around to defend you. You are all alone, after dark, near the woods. Not an ideal place to be for someone like you.”

The way his hooded eyes dial in on me, watching my every movement, the dirt cracking beneath his shoes—if I tried to run, he’d catch me before I even turned around.

And I’m not a runner.

Not from him. Not from anyone.

“I don’t need anyone to protect me. I can handle you myself.”

“Yeah?” He kicks his head to the right condescendingly. “You think a good little girl like you can handle me?” His eyes drop down the levels of my body with every word. “I suspect you’ve never even harmed a fly, never snuck out or done something that wasn’t laid out for you already. How do you expect to fend off someone as out of their mind as me?”

I swallow visibly when he stops walking. Another step and our knees would knock together. I refuse to back down even when he lifts his hand, one finger. The rough feeling of his skin on me as he drags the tip along my jawline makes me jerk from him. “Don’t touch me.”

I’m not surprised when he doesn’t listen, continuing to talk over me.“I mean, you’re the professional, correct? You read about it, about me?” he taunts me, his words cutting me down, trying to bury me, but his touch feels like hot coals. “Tell me, what do they say about sadistic pyromaniacs with bad tempers that people call the devil? Did your books tell you what I’ll do to you, what I like?”

His finger draws a path from my jaw down the column of my neck, the pads of his hand tracing the veins and muscles that make up my throat. It stops just above my collarbone, his thumb brushing against my pulse. I can smell him, mixtures of all things explosive, and it’s burning me from the inside out.

This is the closest I’ve ever been to one of them.

There is a reason you’re warned to keep your distance.

Because once you’re in their reach, you are no longer in control of anything anymore.

Mind, body, soul.

They own you.

“Are you threatening me right now?” I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds, considering my breath is coming out in shaky exhales, my tongue touching my upper lip as I keep making direct eye contact. That usually intimidates people enough to get them to back off, but not him. He matches my energy, refusing to let it go.

Removing the match from his mouth, he taps my bottom lip with the red tip before sparking the flame between his thumb and pointer finger. It burns high, flashing directly in front of me, so close I can feel the heat from it.

His face flickers in the dark, wearing the orange glow proudly.