once again feel like I’m in control of my own destiny. My own decisions. There might be a significant part of me saying yes out of anger at Easton, but so be it. I’m heartbroken and pissed and craving a distraction from the bleakness surrounding me.
“Sure.” I pick up my books. “Coffee sounds good.”
Paul does a double-take. “Really?”
Already nerves are running a hamster wheel in my stomach, but I ignore them. “Yes.”
We walk out of the class and into the hallway, weaving through groups of students. Once again, I have the sensation of being watched, but I keep my eyes forward. Paul holds the door for me and we walk out into the quad, crossing a green field littered with more students. A bell tolls somewhere in the distance and the breeze makes me shiver, the urge to look over my shoulder strong. I focus on what Paul is saying, though. Something about our upcoming thermodynamics exam. And we eventually reach the small campus coffee shop and go inside.
We take a table in back and Paul leaves to order coffee at the register.
The lack of sound in the place makes me shift uncomfortably. I glance down at my arm and find every hair standing up. Casually as possible, I peruse the customers sitting at tables and over in the lounge area. Is it me or are there a lot of men here by themselves? One of them catches my eye and quickly looks away. What is going on?
No sooner has Paul returned with our coffees is there a loud crash.
The sound of the entrance door slamming off the wall.
And my breath begins to race. I wonder if I’m dreaming. Because there he is. There’s Easton, striding into the coffee shop in his long overcoat with eyes on fire. They cement me in place, my nails digging into the soft booth on either side of my thighs. He looks god-awful. Has he been trying to pull his hair out by the roots? The closer he gets to the table, the more I notice his eyes are like red marble, bloodshot and…angry. Livid, actually. Violent.
Betrayed.
Betrayed?
How dare he? How dare he have been so close this whole time, while I suffered? While he could have made everything better simply by appearing. How dare he leave me?
As he weaves through the tables, students elbow each other and whisper his name in awe, recognizing my gangster on sight.
No, he’s not my gangster anymore, is he?
I don’t notice the lit cigar between Easton’s fingers until he drops it into Paul’s cup of coffee, putting out the flame with a hiss. Then he leans down into my classmate’s face and bares his teeth like a wolf. “Run, motherfucker.”
“Yes, Mr. Brawn,” Paul squeaks, grabbing his backpack and sprinting for his life.
Easton watches my classmate haul ass toward the door. “Great choice, cutie.”
I’m a collision of emotions. Anger over Easton leaving me. Relief over seeing him again. Indignation, sadness, frustration. Hot moisture floods my eyes and he sees it. Gulps. Whispers my name shakily. But there is no way I’m letting him see me cry. He doesn’t get to have a single part of me anymore. Not unless he takes all of me.
I snatch up my books and stomp toward the door.
At least six men scoot their chairs back and stand up, glancing at Easton, awaiting their boss’s signal. How many freaking people have been following me?
I don’t stop moving, even though I can feel Easton behind me.
Sense him following.
Is there a part of me that wants to be caught?
Is that why my breath shudders out when a hand closes around my elbow?
“Scout,” he says raggedly, turning me around to face him. “Don’t run from me.”
The tears give up the fight, trickling down my cheeks. “You ran from me.”
“And I made it less than twelve hours. I’m so fucked up, I can’t see straight.” He falls into me, his fingers raking up into my hair, tilting my face up so I’m looking up at his tortured features. My books tumble forgotten to the ground. “Please, I can’t do it. Take me back.”
“No. You didn’t even say goodbye,” I sob.
“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, brushing away my tears with his thumbs. “One of my rivals put a hit out on you, Scout. I was terrified. I am terrified you’ll never be safe with me.”
A weight drops in my belly. “A…hit? On me?”
“I took care of it, baby.” He presses our foreheads together. “I looked right in his eyes and ended