Collaring Chaz (Dante's Infernal #2) - Joel Abernathy Page 0,68

seconds, and I could hear Sam asking me something, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Somehow, I got to my feet, still feeling trapped and short of breath even though the collar was off and Jacob wasn’t touching me.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes, trying to drown out the hissing voices that had been almost impossible to ignore lately. I could drink myself into oblivion, and I’d still wake up with them whispering in my ear, louder than ever. The pills did nothing anymore, and I was pretty sure if I upped the dose again, I wasn’t going to wake up.

It wasn’t the deterrent it probably should have been.

The exit was only about twenty feet away, but the moment I took a step toward it, the ground seemed to stretch on and on, and the door got further.

Get it fucking together, you psycho freak.

Someone grabbed me by both wrists and yanked me to face him. When I found myself looking into Sterling’s glacial eyes, not being able to breathe wasn’t a problem, since I couldn’t remember how anyway.

“Calm. Down.” His voice was just as frigid as his gaze, and somehow, the fact that he didn’t even seem angry was more intimidating.

I swallowed hard, trembling everywhere his iron grip wasn’t. My knees felt weak again, and I was pretty sure he was the only thing holding me up. Without waiting for a response, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and threw it over my shoulders before rushing me out the door I’d been trying to get to.

Sterling’s presence seemed to have the same effect as a full bottle of Jack and then some. In any case, it jarred me enough that I was back in reality. Whether that was a good thing or not, I didn’t know.

As soon as we were outside, the studio door slammed shut behind us, and he shoved me back. I staggered a little, cowering under his jacket as he cornered me the way Jacob had, only this wasn’t just playing around for some perv’s photoshoot.

“Would you like to tell me what that was?” he demanded.

He sounded so calm, and he was. Sterling was always calm, and in absolute control, both of himself and the world around him. I was pretty fucking sure the sun didn’t rise unless he gave it the go-ahead.

“I-I don’t know,” I admitted. It wasn’t a good answer, but lying to him was far more perilous.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that, considering that you just had a meltdown in front of forty-six people,” he replied, slipping a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. I’d never seen him smoke before, and I’d had no choice but to quit when I moved into the band’s penthouse apartment. “Although considering every last goddamned one of them has a smartphone, I doubt any attempt at a cover up will be fruitful.”

“I’m sorry,” I choked out, hugging myself. Sometimes I kind of missed that straitjacket. It was comforting in a weird way. “I don’t know. I’m telling you the truth.”

He watched me closely, his gaze a void that threatened to swallow me whole, before announcing, “I know you are. Your creativity doesn’t extend to deception, my little songbird.”

He took another step, and I flinched as he smacked the butt of the cigarette box hard into his palm and plucked one of the cigarettes he’d dislodged. I just stared in confusion as he offered it to me.

I hesitated to take it, even though the cravings were worse than ever, convinced it was some kind of trap. When he took out a lighter, I reluctantly accepted it, still tense when he leaned in to light up the cigarette.

I took one drag, then another. As the nicotine hit my veins, the cool sensation of relief traveled with it, easing the heat under my skin. The smoke filling my lungs was the first full breath I’d taken in a while. A few drags later, my hands weren’t trembling as badly.

“All better?” he asked in a caring tone I knew to be mocking. Learned that one the hard way.

I nodded, because even if he was being a smartass, he expected an answer.

“Good. It’ll be the last one, so you’d better enjoy it.”

The more I came back down from the rush of adrenaline and cortisol, the more the embarrassment sank in. “I’m sorry,” I finally said, against my better judgment.

“Sorry?” Sterling chuckled, sweeping a few hairs out of my face