Page 13 of Wicked Little Darling

“Fine, I’ll leave. Good luck getting out of that on your own.” He started walking away without a single glance back, but I heard him mutter, “What the fuck?” to himself.

That’s what I wanted to know.

I sagged back into the mud, staring up at the gray sky.

What in the ever-loving fuck was that?

I truly hoped I never had to see that guy again.

I sat up again and started tugging at the wire. I had no idea how it had gotten so tangled around my leg. Had I stepped into some weird loop? What the fuck.

Ten minutes later, my hands were raw and I had made zero progress in getting untangled or even pinpointing where I might even start. Why the fuck would someone put a random wire over a wall around a cemetery?

“You sure you don’t want some help?”

“Fuck!” I yelled as the stranger’s head popped up from the other side of the wall.

He rested his forearms on top and leaned over to look at me. “I thought you said you could get out of it on your own.”

“Go away.”

“No, it looks like you really need my help. Seriously.”

“Oh my god,” I muttered, lying back and throwing an arm over my eyes.

Something heavy hit the ground to my right, and I turned my head to see a pair of black boots near my shoulder. I closed my eyes as a sense of weary resignation took over.

I should just let him help me at this point. The sooner I was out of here, the sooner I could be away from him.

“Why are you here?” I asked. I moved my arm and sat up, not wanting to be in such a vulnerable position around him.

“I forgot my knife.” He reached into some weeds and grass at the base of the wall and plucked his knife from the ground. “I’d offer to get you out of that, but you’ll probably just attack me again.”

I stared at the wire around my leg, then let my head fall back and looked up at the sky. My clothes were starting to make me itch everywhere because of this uncomfortable wetness.

“I won’t attack you,” I mumbled.

I saw him move closer out of the corner of my eye, and then he was leaning back against the wall near my leg, watching me.

“What?” he asked. His fingers played over the handle of the knife, which must’ve been a pocket knife because the blade was gone. He turned it over and over in his hand, and I watched those long, lithe fingers move with a grace that made me wonder if he played an instrument.

They’d look pretty playing any instrument.

He crouched and caught my gaze in his, raising his brows in question.

“I won’t attack you,” I bit out.

“Your mouth is saying that, but your eyes are telling me a different story,” he mused.

I’d never wanted to punch someone in the face as badly as I did right then. That smug little smirk dug itself beneath my skin and started scraping along every raw nerve ending until my entire body was humming with irritation.

“Tell you what,” he said, his gaze drifting to my birthmark. “If you ask me nicely, I’ll help you.”

“Fuck you, dipstick,” I spat. I’d rather sit here forever.

The laugh that vibrated through his chest was quick and deep and filled with surprise. It made my face heat while my heart thumped hard in my chest. “Dipstick?”

“Dipshit.” Fucking whatever.