Hooked (Never After, #1)(58)

“Trying to steal my date, Peter? Or just using her to plan your next foolish adventure?”

My father’s eyes narrow. “Whatever you’re trying, kid. It won’t work.”

Hook’s body stiffens, the heel of his palm pressing against my abs. My hands reach up to cover his forearm, and then, quick as lightning, my head is wrenched to the side, the tendons in my neck stretching until it hurts. I whimper from the pain, my fingernails digging into Hook’s skin.

“Are you trying to get her killed?”

My heart stutters at his words, my eyes widening as I stare at my father.

But all Dad does is smirk, his gaze landing on me. “I told you, Little Shadow. He doesn’t care for you.”

My insides burn.

A deep chuckle rumbles in Hook’s chest, and it vibrates through my bones, setting my nerves on fire. He leans down, pressing his pillow soft lips to the middle of my throat, his tongue swiping out to taste my skin.

Heat spreads between my legs, followed closely by the revulsion at the fact my body can be turned on by this sick situation.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I am like the other men you’ve dealt with.” Hook releases my head, pushing me to the side gently as he stalks toward my father. “I do not care for my reputation. I do not care for the money, or the businesses you burn.”

My father’s lips turn down, and my head spins, wondering what he’s talking about.

“In fact, there is nothing you can steal from me that you haven’t already taken.” He steps closer until he towers over my father’s frame. “These are my streets,” he continues. “And I’ve been waiting so patiently for you to come and play.”

His hand reaches in his pocket, the brown handle of his knife making my insides curdle with fear. My heart catapults into overdrive, my feet moving before I can stop them, and I run, shoving myself between them, my father stumbling back a step.

“Don’t,” I beg. “Please… just… don’t hurt him.”

Hook’s eyes widen slightly, but he stands stoic, a slow grin creeping on his face. His fingers reach out, brushing down my jaw. “So loyal.”

He looks behind me to my father. “And where are your pleas, Peter?” His brows rise. “Or maybe you’d rather I spill her blood to cover your sins.”

Silence.

Deafening. Heartbreaking silence.

Hook’s eyes lock on mine, and I hold his stare, my stomach rising and falling along with the uneven beats of my heart, my nostrils flaring from the agonizing pain of my chest cracking in half.

He exhales, bending his neck to the side until it cracks, and then nods, reaching his hand out. “Very well.”

Relief pours through my veins, my body trembling as I place my palm in his. He tugs, and my body flies into him. My fingers press against his chest, his arm wrapping around my lower back and his mouth finding my ear.

“I want you to memorize this moment, darling. Remember how it feels to realize your father was willing to let you die in order to save himself.”

And then he whisks me away, while my soul shatters to dust.





33





Wendy





Hook is silent in the limo ride, but I can feel the rage pouring out of him and infusing the air. It’s thick. Suffocating. My eyes flick from him to the streets whizzing by, wondering if he’s angry with me, and asking myself why I care.

The car turns the street corner, and my breath stalls in my lungs as the familiar landmarks come into view. I know this street.

And it isn’t the marina.

“You said you wouldn’t bring me back here,” I rush out, panic seizing my insides.

“And you said you wouldn’t misbehave.” He picks invisible lint from his suit.

My jaw drops. “I didn’t! I did everything you asked for.”

“You think gallivanting off with your father was something I would ask for?” he snaps.

My heart drops to my stomach. “That had—” I swallow. “That had nothing to do with you.” I cringe, knowing how pathetic it sounds, even to my own ears.

He chuckles. “Darling, if you expect me to believe that, then you’re truly a stupid girl.”

My teeth grind, fists clenching. “I am not a girl.”

His head tilts. “Just stupid then?”

I breathe deeply through my nose, trying to stem the roiling in my gut when I imagine being tossed back into that dark dungeon of a room. “Please, I don’t want to be back in that basement.”

He sighs, his fingers rubbing at his jaw. “You’re not.”

My head snaps up, relief flooding through me. “I’m not?”

The car rolls to a stop, blues and reds flashing over my skin through the windows.

What in the world?

The door opens, and Hook steps out, his hand appearing in front of me. My heart jolts when I place my palm in his, allowing him to pull me from the car. He’s a dichotomy, threatening my life in one breath and being a gentleman in the next. It’s terrifying how he can do both so flawlessly, as if they’re integral parts of him, coexisting peacefully as one. It tosses everything I’ve ever been taught about good and evil out the window until it skews and blurs in my brain.

Shock spirals through my center as I exit the car, my breath whooshing from my lungs.