form snippets of a scene mostly hidden beneath his shirt. The only solid detail I can make out licks down the length of his forearm in writhing tendrils—flames.
“Eyes up here, rabbit,” he warns, snapping his fingers. Rabbit? As his eyes flicker over me again, I realize what he meant. Me. As a joke?
Or a crude reference to my sweater? I glance down, eyeing the beige wool speckled with innocent white bunnies that seem to glow in the dim lighting.
“Cat got your tongue, rabbit?”
I say nothing, pursing my lips, ignoring reality. There’s an art form in silence—in shrinking down within yourself until the real you is just a blip. A memory. Completely untouchable by anyone…
Until he touches me.
The flesh of his fingertip is alarmingly soft. I almost don’t realize it’s happening at first—the brief, persistent contact disrupting my loose curls—until my nerves become electrified with his touch. Alarmed, I flinch back, nearly lurching off the couch entirely. Before my eyes, his fingers float, denied a taste of my skin.
He chuckles, leaving his hand unmoving anyway. Dark, his eyes trace the outlines of mine, hunting for a way in. I blink to keep him out, but I fail.
His smile catches me off guard, and our gazes lock. Amusement glints across the dark irises, but there’s no malice. He’s a child playing a game merely to thwart boredom, and I’m just a toy. With nothing better to do, he’s dangling me by my puppet limbs, watching me flail—all for the sake of entertainment.
“I’ll make you a deal.” He lifts my notebook from his lap, brandishing it just beyond my reach. “Read me one of your little stories, and I’ll let your friend off the hook for tonight.”
He wants a response. Demands one. His silence feels deliberate this time, nibbling away at my nerves until I have no choice but to pry my lips apart. Speak. “Why?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Her daddy owes a shit ton of money, rabbit.” He chuckles when I flinch at the nickname, hating how it sounds in his voice. A husky, teasing whisper on the verge of a growl. Rabbit. “Letting her go without a warning would be a mercy bestowed out of the kindness of my bleeding heart.”
He winks, prompting me to go against my instincts once again.
“Why is that her problem?” I croak while glancing at Mara. Lurking on the periphery, she hasn’t left me at least. Her eyes meet mine, wide and frightful, and she waves toward me in a frantic motion. Run! As if leaving would be so easy.
“Why?” His harsh bark of laughter draws my attention back to him. He forms a fist and props his chin onto it, probing deep with those merciless eyes. “I don’t know what cul-de-sac you skipped out of, but here in the real world? We pay for the sins of others, whether related to us by blood or not. It’s the way the fucking cookie crumbles. You suffer for Chan, and she’ll have to bear the weight of her daddy’s gambling addiction.”
It sounds like something a movie villain would say, but in a sense, he’s right. I know that better than anyone. Be them the sins of a father, or a brother…some of us are destined to live out our lives tainted by the crimes of others. No matter what we do, they haunt us.
Constantly. My phone buzzes, the screen lighting up, and even from here, I know who’s calling. Branden.
Laughing, the man picks it up from the couch and glances at the home screen. His already permanent smirk stretches. “Should I answer it?” he ponders, inclining his head toward me.
He’s baiting me.
But I bite, lurching forward even as I clutch at the edge of my seat with both hands to keep from really moving. “Don’t.”
Am I even worried for myself? No. Maybe Mara instead? Or my fragile freedom. This space. Branden would stop at nothing to drag me back into the cage he’s built around me and lock it shut for good if he suspects for a second that I’m not playing by his rules.
In some ways, this man should answer the call. Once he’s done with me, Branden would burn this place to the ground…
But I wouldn’t wish his wrath on anyone.
“Don’t.”
He chuckles again, stroking the outside of my phone with his thumb. But for all his games, his eyes keep flicking toward the screen, reading the name I’ve programmed in for my brother—Bran <3. The heart is symbolic, but he wouldn’t know that.
He lifts his