Out of Love(24)

“No need.” Slade pinned me with a look that made me internally cower as Jericho took his spot next to his master. “I’m just here for my dog … and the girl.”

“Livy?” Elias’s face wrinkled with confusion as his gaze shifted to me.

I was surprised. Elated. And pissed off. Where had he been? Why couldn’t he have left me his phone number? Was he a drug dealer? Did he screw that woman? “I have plans with Elias. And my car is here. Thanks anyway.”

“Livy … get your ass in your car. Now.”

To say I was flabbergasted and appalled would’ve been an understatement. Never had a man talked to me that way—except my father. And I wasn’t a fan of it. The bones in my body weren’t submissive. Not a single one.

Once I picked my jaw up from the floor, I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not your pet. He might do as you ask…” I nodded to Jericho “…but I won’t.” I tipped my chin up as Elias held the door open, wearing an uneasy expression.

“Are you going to give yourself willingly to him … or is he going to take something that’s not his to take like he did with Bella Blackwell?”

Elias started to shut the door. “Good talk, whoever the fuck you are, but it’s time for you to leave.”

Slade pressed one hand to the door, shoving it back open, while his other hand gripped Elias’s throat, ramming him into the wall.

“Slade!” I winced.

“Livy, Go. Get. In. Your. Car.”

“What are you talking about? Let him go!” I tugged at his arm as Elias’s face turned a reddish-blue.

“In Florida … your surfer friend raped a seventeen-year-old girl, but he got off on a technicality because the investigators fucked up the case. Then he moved here. And you were getting ready to let a rapist crawl between your legs.” He tsked several times. “Not smart. Now … as soon as you’re in your car, I’ll let him breathe again. It’s that simple.”

“Elias …” I whispered, not wanting to believe Slade.

He wouldn’t look at me. Maybe because he couldn’t breathe. Maybe because he did it. I grabbed my sweatshirt from the floor and ran out the door, shaky on my legs, head spinning to the point of nausea. It had to be a bad dream. My fantasy for months wasn’t a rapist. No.

No … no … no …

I collapsed into my car and inched the door shut, fastening my seat belt with unsteady hands.

A few seconds later, Slade slammed the front door to the house with Jericho at his side as he marched toward his SUV. He didn’t look at me until they were in his car. With the slightest nudge upward of his chin, he gestured for me to go.

I did.

I drove straight home.

I flew out and stomped to my front door.

“No,” I said to myself just before sliding the key into the lock. “You do not get to win.” Angry steps took me down the street to his house. Rage fueled me with an unscripted speech waiting to be unleashed on Slade Wylder for whatever that was at Elias’s house.

Ordering me around.

Spewing insane accusations at Elias.

And just … gah! Everything!

Without invite or a single knock, I threw open his back door just as he set his keys on the counter and started to shrug off his denim jacket. He pinned me with a look that dared me to say one word. “Turn around and go home.”

“Stop bossing me around,” I said through gritted teeth. “Why did you do that? Why did you say that? Elias is not a rapist.”

“Google it.” He took several steps in my direction, trying to intimidate me.

I stood my ground. “I asked him for sex.”

He narrowed his eyes for a few seconds like my words bothered him. “I’m sure it was going to be a nice break for him to get it without having to take it forcefully.”

“Why do you care?”

His gaze intensified as his jaw set. “I don’t.”

I grimaced, waiting for my head and my heart to agree on a reaction. How could he be so everything and so awful at the same time? “Why?” I whispered, letting my heart speak first.

“It’s not my job to care.”

I refused to blink until the burning tears retreated. Then I swallowed back the ball of anger and hurt swelling in my throat. “Then what exactly is your job? And how does it involve me at all? Why do you care if someone rapes me?” Words I never imagined coming from my mouth.

“Go home.”

“I’m not going home!” I shoved his chest.

His eyebrows shot up his forehead as he took a step back.

I stepped into him and shoved him again.

“Watch it …” he warned.

“I don’t want to watch it.”

Shove.

“I don’t want to be told what to do!”

Shove.

“I don’t want to be touched unless you’re going to fucking kiss me!”

Shove.

His back hit the fridge. Mint and soap assaulted my senses as the only sound in the room was the hum of the air conditioner and my labored breaths.

My lips parted as my chest violently rose and fell. “Put your hands on me, Wylder,” I whispered.

Pity dripped from his expression.

I didn’t want his pity. I wanted his hands on me. When did my seduction become so desperate?