“Restraining you,” he mumbled, unfazed about his hard-on that pressed against her backside. “Go to sleep.”
His arm was heavy and his body warm. Even if she scooted closer to the wall, the bed was too narrow for their bodies not to touch. The irony didn’t escape her. How many times had she dreamt about being in his bedroom and sharing his bed? She’d imagined the scene a myriad of times while standing under his window, watching him smoke, but she could never have guessed it would be like this.
When his rhythmic breathing fanned over her neck, she let out the breath she’d been holding. The tenseness left her body. The scent of soap—a plain, white bar—chased away the musty smell of the wall.
She wanted to stay vigilant, but the last two days had been exhausting. Soon, her eyelids drooped. Despite her resolution not to give in, she fell asleep quickly. Her dreams were filled with erotic images of Joss. Those scenarios tortured her, making need pulse between her legs until she woke up sweating and hot, her back still flush against Joss’s chest. Her body ached from being in the same position for too long. Trying to move as quietly as possible under the heavy weight of Joss’s arm, she turned.
She’d barely settled on her back when Joss striked. Clamping a hand around her neck, he tightened his fingers with bruising force. She tried to cry out, but the only sound that escaped her lips was a croak. She couldn’t breathe.
She swatted at him, but he only squeezed harder. She clawed at his arms. He was going to strangle her. She fought rougher, trying to kick and throw him off, but he easily stilled her efforts by rolling over her, pressing the little air she had left from her lungs with his weight. She dug her nails into his biceps, but her efforts were futile.
Just as black spots popped behind her eyes, Joss’s eyes focused. His pupils contracted in the soft glow of the lamp as shock registered on his face. He withdrew his hand as if from a fire, finally giving her access to much needed oxygen. She gulped air into her burning lungs. Sitting back onto his heels, he stared at her with round eyes while she tried to steady her breathing.
“Fuck, Cle.” He slipped his hands under her arms and pulled her into a sitting position. “Breathe. That’s good. Just like that.”
She was like a ragdoll, fighting a dizzy spell that made her head turn.
“You frightened me,” he said.
She pushed on his chest to create distance between them and said in a hoarse voice, “So you strangled me?”
He climbed off her. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he threaded his fingers through his hair. “I could’ve fucking killed you.”
“Isn’t that the plan eventually?”
He glanced sideways at her, the look in his eyes haunted. That look scared her more than the fingers he’d had clamped around her throat a minute ago, because she saw the conflict in those silver depths. The truth. It was as good as admitting out loud it would come to that.
Swinging her legs off the bed, she pushed past him. She had to escape, even if it was only as far as the bathroom. She needed space from him.
A big hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her back. “I’ll sleep in the hall.”
She couldn’t look at him. She waited for him to lift his hand, but he kept her in place.
“It was the dream,” he said, offering another olive branch.
She didn’t want to take it. She didn’t want to know. There was only one way this could end. She made to stand again.
“Cle, wait.” His hand tightened on her shoulder. “You asked if it was always the same.” He continued in a quiet tone. “The answer is yes. Night after night, I watch them being slaughtered, unable to do a goddamn thing.”
How could he stand it? She wasn’t excusing his behavior, but she couldn’t wish this upon anyone. “You can’t stay here, Joss.”
“There’s nowhere else to go.”
“You could go to your safe house.”
He laughed. It was an ugly sound. “You won’t even be safe at the safe house.”
The impact of his words hit her like a fist in the stomach. She wasn’t safe with his people. She wasn’t safe with him. She wasn’t safe here. There was nowhere she’d ever be safe again.
“Hey,” he said, trying to pull her close, but she pushed away.
He dropped his hand from her shoulder. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back.”
Too late.
“You want to know the ugly truth?” he said. “You were wrong. It was my fault. All mine.”
“Joss, I don’t—”
“I can’t beat these ghosts.” He rubbed a palm over his chest. “They’re invincible.”
“Maybe they’re just undealt with.”
He turned his head to look at her. His gaze homed in on her like nothing else was real. Like that day in the woods, he saw her. He saw everything. She tried to shelter her feelings—the longing, the vulnerability, and the need. For an awful and wonderful moment, she was the girl Joss had noticed again. Her heart crumpled like a ball of paper. It wasn’t fair. He had no business prying into her soul. Not any longer.
His gaze slipped to her neck where a vein was throbbing, a telltale sign of fear and unrequited love. Stupid love. With his eyes locked on the pulse in her neck, he reached out a hand, but she leaned back before he could touch her.
“I left marks,” he said. “It’ll bruise.”
His marks went much deeper. He knew. He saw her. He knew.
“I’m a bad man, Cle.” He said it searching her eyes, looking for something. Acceptance? Absolution?
“I know,” she whispered. The dream tried to warn her, but she didn’t listen. Her bad boy had grown into a very bad man.
He smiled, then gave a small nod, accepting the judgment, which, for some reason, broke her heart. She was just like everyone else in town,
