breathes down my neck whenever I’m most vulnerable. It’s why leaving the house is a feat in itself.
He can’t rule me anymore. Not after what he did, not with how he ruined my life. I refuse.
When my phone beeps and vibrates in my palm, I peer at the screen, wondering what he wants now. He never gives up. He’s tenacious, even more than he was in high school. Ace Collins scares the living shit out of me.
He’s my bully, the pain to my ache, and the grim reaper to my murder.
If I allow it, he’ll end my life.
I miss you, mon beau. At the text from Range—Ranger Godefroy—my not-so-temporary Paris fling, heat surfaces on my skin, blanketing it in warmth. That’s what Range does, he soothes my aches and promises endless care and a name my father would approve of. I roll my eyes at that. He might be royalty to my French grandparents and my father, but he’s just Range to me. The kindest man I know.
Miss you too, Range. Visit me this summer?
Wouldn’t miss it for the world, ma petit. Special occasion?
Just needing you here. Especially since you haven’t seen my home.
I’ll book my flights then. He sends and then another message pops through. But, mon beau, I will follow through with that promise. My body flames at that. Where it warms from his sweetness and adoration, it melts with his promise.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I lie, wanting to distract myself from the asshole who fucks my head up with every jab he throws my way.
When I get there, your pussy is mine. Tu comprends, ma petit?
Yes, sir. I joke, but inside, my body squirms with possibilities. Since the day we’ve met, he’s wanted me. It’s why I never pushed for more. If I gave him what he asked for—my body—maybe he wouldn’t stick around.
That’s what Ace did.
Used me.
Chewed me up.
Spit me back out.
I’ve selected the first week of June. See you then, Gray. Don’t miss me too much.
But I will. So I respond with a winky face and then head to my kitchen, needing to wash the strong kombucha flavor from my tongue. Opening the huge stainless steel fridge that could feed the entire town of Hollow Ridge, I scan for something not so bitter.
“Guess I know why you’re avoiding me.”
I screech, banging my elbow on the shelf, knocking it down along with every condiment I’ve ever seen. My eyes connect with the mess. The ketchup bottle’s cap broke, spraying red everywhere, and the mustard did the same. It’s the pickles that made the biggest mess.
Broken, in a pile of green saltiness, they brine the floor with their potent smell. My gaze focuses on everything but the voice that spoke. Was he watching me? How did he get past the guards again, let alone barge in here?
“I’m fed up with your silence, Storm. You will kneel for me, and you’ll fucking beg for more.” His hand grips my wrist, and I’m faced with the hate of my life. Love lost itself in the mix, creating a monster that ate at my sanity, driving me crazy as he devoured my soul.
“Ace,” I whisper, not knowing how to react to the icicle touch on my skin. He’s cold, subhuman, like an insensate vampire who preys on me until I’m weak. I’m not weak anymore. The fragile teen he fucked with and pushed over the edge is dead.
Just like the love we once shared.
“Who is he?” he barks, clutching the fridge door as if to keep himself away. He moves, closing it, forcing me to walk backward, all while his boots crush pickles, spreading their juices all over the floor. Delia isn’t going to be happy about cleaning this mess.
“Who is who?” I play dumb. There’s no way he knows about Range. No way. He’s my best-kept secret. Even Dad thinks he’s just my friend, though mémé was the one who pushed me into his arms.
“Don’t act like a daft doll, Gray. That’s beneath you,” he hisses. We walk back until my spine connects with the opposing counter, and tingles of heat zip through me. We’re not teenagers anymore. We can almost legally drink, but with him hovering, pushing into me, I feel like that high schooler he ridiculed until I escaped. The one he did unspeakable things to and stole something that wasn’t his.
“A friend,” I offer. It’s not a lie. It’s not the truth either.
“A friend,” he mocks. “Do you fuck this friend, Storm?” His