Hooked: A Dark, Contemporary Romance (Never After #1)(49)

“Right.” I straighten off the wall, walking toward her. “In any case, he won’t need to. We’re going to him.”

Her head snaps in my direction and she scrambles to her feet.

I continue my slow steps in her direction, and she stiffens, her feet moving backward as if she can break away. Her back hits the stone wall, and I walk into her body, my hips pressing against her, arms reaching up to cage her in. “Where do you think you could run to, Wendy, darling?” I move my palm from the wall, my fingers wrapping lightly around her neck. “Even if you were to escape this room, there’s nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t find you.”

She bares her teeth, her breathing shaky. “Get your hands off me.”

Her arm moves quickly, palm open and swinging toward my face. My stomach jumps as I grab her wrist before it hits, twisting until her body spins. She grunts as my torso pushes into her forcefully, my free hand pressing against the back of her head until her cheek is flush against the wall, her arm locked behind her, wedged between us.

I lean in, my chin resting on her shoulder. “I’m not a fan of repeating myself, so I suggest you listen close.”

She jerks her arm, her elbow grazing my stomach, and I tighten my grip. “I’m going to take you to my home, where I’ll allow you to shower and make yourself presentable.”

“You’re disgusting.”

My stomach twists. “That may be. But until I decide otherwise, I’m also your master.”

She scoffs, her body writhing against mine, causing blood to flow to my groin, my cock twitching. I smirk. “Do continue, sweetheart. I love it when you fight.”

Her body stiffens.

I release her, and she spins around, her eyes narrowed as she grips her wrist, her fingers massaging the red marks. A flare of concern trickles through my mind, but I bat it away. A little bruising won’t hurt near as bad as the wounds she’s caused. And in the end, it won’t matter once she’s dead.

“I have an event tonight,” I say. “And I’d like you to accompany me.”

She huffs out a laugh, but after a few seconds it quiets, her eyes widening. “You’re serious?”

“I am.”

“Go to hell,” she spits.

“Alright.” I pull my phone from my pocket, bringing it up to my ear.

“What are you—”

I hold up a finger, silencing her. “Hi, yes, Mrs. Henderson. It’s so nice to hear your voice. This is James Barrie.”

Wendy’s gasp sends a rush of satisfaction through my veins.

A grin breaks across my face and I wink. “Can you please let Headmaster Dixon know that I’ll be coming to pick up Jonathan Michaels?”

“You bastard.” Her voice is pinched, and my eyes glance to hers, a spike of something coasting through my chest.

I cover the mouthpiece with my hand, my brows raising. “Come again, darling? I couldn’t quite hear you.” I point to my phone. “Important business, you know.”

“I called you a bastard,” she hisses. Her palms press into her eyes, her head shaking. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just, please—”

The knot in my stomach loosens at her agreement, and I nod. “You know? Never mind, Mrs. Henderson, it appears my plans have changed. I do hope you have a wonderful day.”

I hang up, sliding the phone back in my pocket, and walk toward her. I stop when the tips of my shoes press against the bare skin of her toes. My fingers tilt up her chin. “I do regret that it’s come to this. It didn’t have to be this way. But we all have times in our lives where we must pick a side.”

Her brows furrow. “What? I—”

I run a finger down her jaw. “Unfortunately, you picked wrong.” I drop my hand from her face and turn toward the door. “I’ll be back soon. And it would do you well to remember what’s at stake.”





28





Wendy





My wrists are bound again, only this time they’re actual handcuffs instead of heavy shackles. I stare down at the metal, fingers twisting in my lap, before looking over at Curly in the driver’s side of the car. “You didn’t have to handcuff me. It’s not like I’ll run.”

Curly’s face remains stoic, as if he can’t hear me speak at all.

He’s been like this ever since I spit in his face. But I don’t regret it, and there’s nothing I have left to say to him anyway—nothing I have left to say to any of them.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the window, allowing the rays of the sun to soak through the glass and into my skin. There’s a constant heaviness that lives inside me now, but in this moment, I grasp onto the little bit of relief at finally being in the light. I have no idea how much time has actually passed, but when you’re stuck in the dark with nothing but your thoughts, a second feels like a century.

My brain was scrambling like eggs, the isolation turning into a mental torture chamber—nothing but my thoughts and emotions to keep me company—so I started sitting in the middle of the room and trying my hand at meditation. I’m not sure if I’ve been doing it right, but it seems to calm the panic down. Allows time to pass in a way that doesn’t make me feel as though I’m losing my grip on sanity.