44 Chapters About 4 Men - BB Easton Page 0,7

just predator and prey. He’d been hunting me for over a year, and my dumb ass just fell right into his trap.

I had two choices—fight a skinhead or submit and pray for mercy.

Without releasing me from his grip or gaze, Knight slowly lowered himself onto me, making his intention clear, and I surrendered. Adrenaline exploded through my body as I braced myself for something aggressive and potentially bloody to happen. Leaving my body to fend for itself, my consciousness floated up to the nicotine-stained popcorn ceiling above to watch the entire scene unfold through splayed fingers.

Rather than devouring me, like I feared, Knight placed a single, lingering kiss on my lips. The shock of his tenderness reeled my consciousness back in, like the snap of a stretched rubber band, and suddenly, I was alight with sensation—the potent scent of dryer sheets and musky cologne filling my lungs, warm lips on my lips, a hard chest on my chest, forceful arms pinning my scrawnier ones to my sides, and the taste of Winterfresh gum emerging, somehow, through the tangled flavors of PBR and cigarettes.

When he finally withdrew from that gentle peck, in yet another unexpected gesture, Knight rested his forehead on mine and released a long pained breath. I felt his grip on my tiny biceps release as well. Calloused hands slid down my arms, all the way to my balled little fists, which he slid up and over my head with no resistance. His movements were so controlled and his breathing so deliberate that it was as if he were calling on every ounce of self-control he had to keep from tearing me to pieces.

Oh, yes, we were definitely predator and prey.

I was sure he could feel my pulse vibrating in the air, radiating off of me like sound waves from a bass drum, as I lay there, suspended in thrilling trepidation. Once he regained his composure, Knight kissed me again.

I didn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Instead, all my resources had been redirected to my brain, which was struggling to form a coherent thought, once Knight’s tongue began swirling around my own in hypnotizing unhurried circles.

Once he released his grip on my wrists and gave my bottom lip one final appreciative suck, all the thoughts I couldn’t quite seem to form during our encounter came rushing into my mind at once. I didn’t know where to begin. I had only been kissed by two other boys, Colton and Brian, in my fifteen years on the planet and never, ever had it been like that. That was hot. That was—

Oh, fuck…what was that?

Still sprawled on the ground underneath an emotionally unstable bodybuilding skinhead, two notions finally wriggled themselves free from the tangles of my mind. One, Ronald McKnight was in love with me, and two, I was never going to escape.

Part of me loved how sparklingly special Knight made me feel and how passionate he was about me and even, to some extent, how domineering and intimidating and exciting he was. But the other much bigger part of me was scared shitless and really, really wanted this whole thing to just be our little secret.

Maybe I could keep him at bay until he got bored with me. I certainly couldn’t reject him and risk winding up in The Silence of the Lambs–style well under Peggy’s house with my fingernails all bloody from trying to scale the walls. I also couldn’t be seen romantically with him in public.

Oh God, what would my friends think?

My BFF, Juliet, was half-black and half-Japanese, for Christ’s sake!

I couldn’t let people think I was dating a skinhead! This could not get out. This would not get out.

My little secret lasted all of about three days. As it turned out, Knight wanted to shout that shit from a mountaintop. He’d walk me everywhere, kiss me good-bye before every class, sit with his arm around me at lunch, and shoot icicle daggers from his eyes at any guy who so much as turned his head in my direction.

Shit, shit, shit. Somehow, I had become Skeletor, the pet rattlesnake’s, girlfriend.

He’d write me love letters with disturbingly graphic illustrations during almost every class and bring me random gifts—a baggie full of Goldfish, a dandelion he’d picked on the way to school, a severed head—each morning.

As embarrassed as I was to be seen with him, Knight was amazingly unfazed by the attention he was drawing. For a guy whose entire reputation had been built on the image of being unapproachable and potentially lethal,