time. Get the fuck out.”
I try to counter his hostility with a bitter laugh that comes out sounding broken. “You don’t scare me. You’re just a criminal—” I jab my hand into my bag and withdraw an object I’ve been carrying with me all this time. His lighter. “A stupid one who lets a little rabbit steal from him.”
He chuckles. “So you aren’t just suicidal. You’re fucking crazy.” The venom in his tone shocks me when paired with the look in his eyes; it’s so cold. Terrifying.
I’ve been numb for so long, the fear shoots through me like a lance, different from anything I feel around Branden. It’s electrifying.
He’s a furnace, throwing off rage like heat. From how his shoulders are set in a rigid line down to his clenched jaw. Behind him, the drawing in progress spills out like an ominous warning. Wide-eyed Hannah, her lips parted. Run.
“Why are you here?” he demands, pivoting to block my view once again. “Fucking admit it.”
He advances on me without warning. My back strikes the wall because I’m too unfamiliar with this layout, and he’s too fast, closing in the moment I falter.
“Still bored, little rabbit?” His thumb prods my chin. The pad of it is wet and leaves behind something that smells sharp—ink.
I push away from him, desperate to ignore the way his heat eats through my skin. After a few shaky steps forward, I realize I’m not heading in the smart direction toward the door. I go straight for his table instead, toward the figure mocking me. I hate that she’s beautiful in a way I could only dream of embodying. Her smile belongs to a stranger, and her eyes are so wide, they resemble camera lenses. Watching. Watching. Always.
But never fucking living.
Before I know it, the lighter is in my hand again, raised higher. My thumb flicks the spark wheel once. Twice. Like magic, a flame appears, promising destruction.
And I lunge, pressing it to the paper.
It ignites in a beautiful, horrifying display of color. Pale yellow. Brilliant orange. Tinges of red… All of it devours his image of me in an instant.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He grabs my arm—hard. A cry rips from my lips as the force spins me around. Desperate, I lash out with the one weapon I have on hand—the lighter.
“Let me go!”
“Fucking…stop!” He wrestles the lighter away from me and throws it. The fire has already died, smothered by his batting hands.
In a frantic search for another weapon, my grasping fingers find something thin and round lying on his desk. A pen. I throw it at his chest, and it breaks, splattering black paint across the dragon’s wings. “I said, let me go!”
He retaliates by stepping in, gripping my shoulders and snatching me toward him. “Get the fuck out. Go run back to Bran—”
“Shut up!” Something inside me audibly snaps! I hear it. Feel it. Succumb. My nails are digging into any part of him I can reach, and I draw blood. I stare at the ruts in shock as he seizes my shoulders and shoves me back. I push him harder.
And it feels so fucking good to hurt him in any way that I can. Someone. Anyone. I want him to bleed. To ache. To know what it feels like to be so fucking raw on the inside and not understand why.
I hate him. God, I hate him.
When he reaches for me again, I clutch his arm and sink my teeth in.
“What the fuck?” He shoves me so hard that I go flying. My only salvation is I catch myself against a haphazard stack of boxes piled near the door.
“Psycho bitch,” he snarls, but his stance is angled toward me, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet despite his injury. I’m reminded of a bullfighter purposely goading the beast he faces.
You want to fight? So fight.
My mind goes blank as I lunge at him, shrieking something wordless.
He grabs me before I can even touch him. Wham! My butt strikes the surface of the table, and then he’s flush against me, holding both of my arms trapped above my head.
Memory descends for an awful second—the sheer terror that comes with being rendered immobile…but unlike him, I still have use of my legs. “Let go!” I kick him until my arms are freed. Then I scratch. Slap. Bite. Draw blood.
My heart races, the pulsing sound goading me. Fight, Hannah. Fight, fight, fight. Kill. Kill. Kill.
My advantage doesn’t last long. He’s too