Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(55)

My feet shuffle back a half step, and he catches the movement, freezing in place. Irritation sweeps his features, and he lets out a sigh.

Always a fucking sigh.

“When are you going to stop pretending you’re afraid of me, bug?”

I swallow. Shake my head. “I’m not pretending, it just makes you feel better to think that.”

“Then why the fuck was I asked to come out here? Your mom doesn’t seem to think you’re scared.”

Why would she? She doesn’t know the truth.

He pulls a flashlight from his pocket, turning the bulb so it blinds me, and everything inside of me locks up, like a piece of machinery that’s been shut down midproduction.

Flashlights aren’t uncommon, sure. I know that.

But what if…

“Did you get into a fight with a wild animal?” Preston asks, scanning me head to toe.

I just stare at him. Mouth dry, unable to formulate the words to tell him to leave.

In the grand scheme of every mistake I’ve ever made, this is probably the biggest.

Well. Second biggest.

How painfully interesting that this man is at the center of both.

Another set of headlights flash as a new car comes down the road, this time from the opposite way Preston came. Dread seizes my heart, squeezing it until it feels like I might combust on the spot.

When the black Range Rover comes into view, it comes to an abrupt halt directly in front of Preston’s truck. A beat of silence passes, and Preston lets out an annoyed sound.

“We’re good, buddy. No need to fulfill your Samaritan duties, we were just leaving.”

I grimace, pinching my eyes shut, knowing who the driver is before I even hear that velvety British accent.

The driver’s side door opens, and the sound of boots smacking against pavement reverberates in the air. My throat constricts, and I wring my hands together, trying not to choke on my own bad decisions.

Jonas rounds the front of the car, but I don’t look directly at him. Can’t, with shame forcing my neck down and making me nauseous.

“Puppet,” he says, and even though it’s still a nickname, the sound lacks any heat behind it. His voice is flat and devoid of emotion, furthering the spiral of apprehension wreaking havoc on my insides. “Get in the vehicle, would you?”

My brain sends signals to my feet, but they remain in place. When I finally drag my chin up and meet Jonas’s eyes, a chill runs down my spine. I can’t see their shade, but somehow I feel his anger, like some sort of beacon to the weight of it.

“She called me,” Preston says. “Clearly, she’s not interested in going with you.”

“You mistake me for someone who cares about her interests.”

“As her fiancé, don’t you think you should?”

Slowly, Jonas turns his head, fixing his stoic look on Preston. “I care about what’s best for her. Your concern for my fiancée is noted, and not appreciated.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Jonas doesn’t answer. Just returns his focus to me, rolling his shoulders. “In the car, Lenny.”

Still, my natural temperament tells me to resist. Straightening my spine, I cross my arms over my chest and don’t move.

“Oh, bloody hell.” Jonas takes a step forward, and a flash of what transpired earlier stamps my vision, clouding my judgment.

The feel of his body against mine, of him holding me captive with that look in his eyes like he wanted to strip me bare and fuck me against the vehicle.

Then, the immediate bucket of cold water when he suggested I’d taken advantage, and every memory that came rushing back with the claim.

Dirty, rough hands stroking where they don’t belong, with no regard to my pleasure. Hands interested only in taking, in getting to experience Lenny Primrose at her most vulnerable.

Preston’s whiskey breath mixing with mine, equally as saturated, although I swear I didn’t have that much to drink.

“Either get in the car, or I’ll put you in myself.”

My eyes narrow. “You can try.”

His lips curve, the lights from behind him making the gesture seem a million times more sinister. “Think you can outrun me again? Consider it carefully. It’s not likely I’ll be bested twice, love.”

Preston moves forward, partially putting himself between Jonas and me, and a laugh burns in my throat.

Jonas stays still for a while, but eventually shoves his hands into his pockets and backs up. “Have it your way.”

With a one-fingered salute, he turns and walks to the driver’s side, getting into the car and slamming the door shut.

Clearing his throat, Preston looks at me. “Come on, bug. Let’s go.”

When he reaches for my hand, I recoil. Disgust flares in my stomach, tangling in my internal organs—with myself and him, for a multitude of reasons.

But I refuse to continue down a path of self-destruction by going with Preston.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snap, shoving him away when he tries again. Anger surges through my chest, and tears sting my eyes, but I clench my jaw to keep them at bay.

He blinks. Drops his hand. And for the first time in months, the first time since he hurt me and let others join in, he does something to acknowledge the truth.

He laughs.