What was the point in all that fighting, then? What was I trying to achieve? I wasn’t fighting for the sake of fighting, was I?
Roman’s muttering of nonsense spurs my body toward the kitchen, but my eyes are still glued to the keys. I thought everything I wanted would be mine if I could outrun him. I guess I was wrong.
The same thoughts repeat themselves as I make brunch. I believe Roman when he said Jeremy will be looked after, and he wasn’t lying when he said all my art supplies were in the bag.
“What are you thinking about?”
I jump out of my skin and slap my hand over my heart, sending little bits of omelet flying. “Crap, you scared me.”
Leaning a hip against the counter, wearing a cocky grin, he folds his arms over his chest, lifting his long-sleeve slightly so a sliver of olive skin peeks out above his sweatpants. The deep V of his hips points to the place I’ve only ever imagined—and bumped my head into far too many times. I look away before I get caught, but his face doesn’t make it any easier to handle his presence.
The closest word to describe Roman’s bedhead is drool-worthy. The bad-boy persona is in full swing; anyone can tell he’s trouble by just the twinkle of his silver eyes.
Seconds pass, and I still can’t get my eyes off him. More specifically, the way the veins in his hands move when he squeezes his bicep, like he’s trying to rein himself in. I still remember how those skilled fingers drew pleasure from me and made my body addicted with just one hit.
He pushes off the bench, and the distance—or lack thereof—between us becomes suffocating. Not because we’re touching, but because all he needs to do is reach for me, and I’d be at his mercy. “What’s that saying? Think of the devil and he will appear?”
I square my shoulders. “I wasn’t thinking about you.”
“Mmhmm, is that why you’re blushing now?”
“I’m not blushing.” I most definitely am.
“Right, and you aren’t distracted by me at all.”
“Not at all,” I say in agreement, fixated on the curve of his lips. I still remember how soft they were and how much he said against my mouth without needing to utter a word.
“Is that why you’re burning breakfast?”
“What?” I spin around and yank the pan off the hotplate.
Sure enough, the eggs are past well done. What do country people do with inedible food? Feed it to the pigs?
The reasons why we could never live here keep piling up. There’s absolutely no way I could kill any animals or even eat the eggs because they could hatch into cute little chicks.
He chuckles as he takes the handle from me and dumps the remains into a black bag. I blink quickly, unsure of what to do when Roman kisses my forehead before pushing me aside to start on another batch of eggs.
Neither of us mentions the wasted food as we eat, even though, with the way we grew up, wasting food is the most cardinal sin. Mickey blanches when he accidentally drags his fork along the porcelain, creating a high-pitched noise. He shudders, then goes on about everything he did around the house and how he’s mastered the art of Google. As he talks, my eyes drift to the keys on the fireplace mantle.
What is there left for me? It’s not like I have the money to afford a roof over my head and food in my stomach. I get a commission every few weeks, which is better than nothing. Millie probably wouldn’t want me working at the store after what’s happened, and it’s not like I’d want to.
“Do it,” he challenges me, gesturing to the keys. “But remember, there isn’t anywhere you could go where I won’t follow.” His promise sends my heart galloping, and fire ignites in my veins.
I open and close my mouth, willing words to come out, but I have nothing to say—No, not nothing. I don’t know what to say because the words on the tip of my tongue will seal my fate, and I’m not ready for that.
Silence reigns over us, making the tension between us electrify as the fireplace crackles. "Run." His chest rumbles while his deep, darkened gaze locks with mine, descending goosebumps along my skin. “I’ll give you a head start. But know, I will catch you. Every time. You’ll scream, beg, and fight, but there will be nothing stopping me from claiming you.” I draw in a shuddering breath when his lips brush the shell of my ear, his voice a silky whisper. “Run. I dare you.”
Then he gives me the look that tells me what time it is: Tag.
The chair tumbles back and clatters against the floor as sparks ignite through my blood, alighting my skin with a flush of fear and excitement. Thunder erupts through the house to the beat of my bounding steps as I bolt past the keys and for the door.
Fear and rapture flood my senses, making me lose all thought as I aim straight for the trees, not feeling nature’s assault on my feet. Cold air stings my face as I go bounding through the forest while I hear the door slam open.
“Oh, Bella,” he calls in a singsong voice.
As my heartbeat roars in my ears, I don’t dare look behind me to see how far away he is. His voice seems close and a world away at the same time.
My thundering steps sound too loud in my ears as pine needles stick to my clothes and branches tear at my skin. The pain doesn’t register beyond the need to keep running and the desire to meet the hunter when I’m caught.
It’s fucked up and thrilling. Pure exhilaration surges through me; feeling like I have injected some kind of drug straight into my veins.
Tag. It’s been years since we’ve played it; I’ve forgotten how the euphoria of that hunt feels.
He’ll trap me. His claws will sink into me, and he’ll claim his territory like a savage.
Even though I can’t see him, I can feel him and his scent everywhere, overpowering the smell of the fresh earth.
He starts whistling a cheery tune somewhere, as if the chase doesn’t tire him. The eerie melody spurs me on, heightening my sense of panic.
My muscles burn as I push myself to run faster, each unsteady step threatening to send me tumbling down. I glance around frantically, aiming for something that helps me hide my tracks. Luckily, it’s not long before I spot rock formations on the horizon, covering a good portion of the forest floor.
I didn’t expect Roman to give me so much time to run, but I know he’s playing with me, giving me the false sense of security that I might have some semblance of control in this situation.
Climbing onto one of the rocks, I jump to another, then another, finally sprinting for a low-hanging tree. I duck behind it, breath ragged and wheezing. Even as I try to muffle my greedy lungfuls of air as I move, I may as well be screaming for him to find me with how loud I'm breathing.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” His coo echoes through the forest, so I can’t pinpoint where he is.
Nature stills, and the birds’ and insects’ songs go quiet. I hold my breath. Waiting. Listening.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Nothing happens. No sound, no movement, nothing.
The cawing of a bird booms overhead, and I jump back, colliding with something solid before a hand clasp over my mouth.