Chapter 23: CHAPTER 23
ZARA
I should be sick to my stomach, and I am, but at the same time, I’m caught in a trance by the subtle change in his tone and expression when he says the last word. By the way his voice deepens and a familiar spark flashes in his usually cold eyes.
It’s the same expression he wore when he pinned me down on the deck until I had nowhere else to go.
Instead of getting trapped in it all over again, I lower my head and cut a small piece of the omelet thingy and throw it in my mouth, fully intent on swallowing without tasting.
But I do taste it and I pause, then take another bite and chew it slowly this time. Despite the normal ingredients and the canned tuna, there’s something special about it that I can’t put my finger on. Maybe it is drugs, after all. So I take another bite and another. Just to make sure.
“You like it?”
I lift my head to find Dylan swirling the contents of his glass and watching me intently, his plate barely touched.
My ears heat when I realize I’ve almost finished mine. “It’s not bad,” I say all businesslike, trying to downplay my embarrassment.
Dylan’s lips twitch and he pushes his plate in my direction. “You can have this, too.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t take back his plate either. He plants his elbow on the table, leans his chin against his fist, and continues watching me from the rim of his cup.
The way he looks at me is unnerving. It’s like he wants to devour me instead of the food and then break me. Or maybe both at the same time.
So I focus on the omelet, trying and failing to figure out the special ingredient. Is it spices?
I choke in my haste and Dylan slides a glass of water in my direction. Only when I drink half of it and I’m assaulted by the burn do I realize it’s not water.
I cough, spluttering and hitting my chest as the burn settles there.
“Why…why the hell would you give me pure vodka?”
He lifts a shoulder. “You were choking.”
“Water is fine.”
“Alcohol is better. You don’t drink much, why?”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that. I just…don’t like losing my inhibitions.”
“I assume it has to do with drugging being a hard limit?”
I purse my lips, but apparently, that’s all the answer he needs, because he nods all-knowingly.
This man is annoyingly observant and when I’m around him, I constantly have this feeling of being under a microscope.
He retrieves his glass and makes a show of drinking right from where my lip marks are. Usually, that would make me squeamish, but right now, all I can do is stop and stare.
I clear my throat, more to disperse my attention than anything. “What happens after we eat?”
“We’re still eating.”
“I know. I’m asking about what comes after.”
“You need to learn how to live in the moment sometimes. Being too future-oriented will only lead you to the grave.”
“Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“I know. Doesn’t suit you, but I digress.”
I eat a mouthful of food and stare at him. “Why do you think you’re an expert on what suits me and what doesn’t?”
“I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I notice telltale signs and patterns. It’s what I do best.”
“Because you’re in the mafia?”
“Because I had to in order to predict the behavior of someone.”
“Someone?”
He raises a brow. “Aren’t you full of questions today? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re interested in me.”
“As if.” I push the empty plate away. “I just want to know who I’m dealing with.”
“You know, you don’t have to make this unpleasant, Zara. You and I are compatible and share a very specific kink. I can make you feel alive and desired in ways no one else is capable of. I can take away the burden of being socially accepted. It’s all in the palm of your hand if you quit being standoffish and stop fighting me every step of the way.”
“We’re not compatible, Dylan.”
“How so?”
“You think of me as your toy, someone you can dish out orders to and expect to fall in line, and I just refuse to be that way. You don’t even give me a fair chance to make my own choices.”
“I gave you that and you chose wrong.” His voice darkens to a frightening edge.
“What? When?”
He doesn’t answer, as usual, and I’m left with the worst case of bemusement. Ever since I became acquainted with Dylan, he’s never given me a choice. Not even once. So how the hell can he say I chose wrong?
He stands up with the lethargy of a big black cat and I push back against the banquette. There’s been a shift in the air. I’m not sure why, but it’s there, and it’s rippling with suffocating tension.
I’m stunned into long, thick silence. And Dylan uses the chance to drag me behind him. He doesn’t do it gently, doesn’t wait for any cues from me. He just digs his fingers into my elbow and pulls me along.
I’m wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, but my skin tingles and burns where he’s gripping it. The sudden, nonnegotiable motion might as well be an ambush that strips away all my defenses.
I’m not used to being treated this way—stalked, manhandled, grabbed with brutal strength.
I gradually snap out of my shocked state and try to wrench my arm free. His powerful, much bigger hand engulfs my elbow in a merciless hold, fingers digging further into the skin until I can feel a bruise forming there.
“Where are you taking me? Let me go.”
I hate the tremor in my voice, the helplessness in it. I’ve always prided myself on being confident and having the ability to conquer anything in my path, but this is a lot different from anything I’ve experienced.
Dylan Hunter isn’t a person who I can stand up to and hope to come out of the encounter unscathed. He’s not an entity that can be dealt with logically and hope for favorable results.
The more I see him, the deeper I’m trapped in his night-like aura. Ruthless, heartless, boundless.
“Dylan…” I purse my lips at the stutter and my skin heats. It starts where he’s touching me and spreads through the rest of my body.
He doesn’t answer me, doesn’t acknowledge my existence as his sharp strides cut the distance through the night. The muscles in his back are rigid, rippling beneath his black leather jacket.
It’s a fact that Dylan is a big man, probably the biggest I’ve seen, aside from Nikolai. But right now, he’s like a giant animal. No, not an animal. A hunter.
He’s been chasing me ever since the initiation, and I was insolent enough to run away once and stop him the second time. And maybe that’s what led us to this predicament.
Maybe that’s how I ended up being targeted by the most dangerous man I know. The one whose name is whispered in university halls, fight clubs, and the streets. The one who comes with gruesome rumors attached to his name. The most prominent of all is how he makes people disappear.
My body goes rigid at that reminder. Maybe it’s my turn now. Maybe he’s had fun tormenting me by following me around, and now, he’ll execute the next step that involves getting rid of me.
“Dylan!” I call again, much louder this time.
He glances at me from the corner of his eye, looking no different than a monster in sophisticated clothes.
“So you do know my name, yet you chose to address me as a creep.”
I swallow. He’s not going to let that go, is he?
“I—”
“Don’t.”
“You didn’t even hear what I had to say.”
“I don’t need to. If you’re going to blurt it out without mulling it over in that head of yours beforehand, then it’ll only piss me off further.”
My mouth opens, but I force it closed. So he is mad. It’s hard to tell when he appears angry all the time.
He tugs me forward and I stumble, nearly dropping my books as we come to a halt in front of a huge bike. The same bike I’ve caught glimpses of him riding a few times.
This thing is monstrous, and I resemble a stray mouse next to it. Dylan, however, fits the vibe.
He finally releases my elbow and I resist the urge to massage the spot where his fingers assaulted my skin.
He plucks a helmet out of the saddlebag and leans toward me.
It’s really bad for my self-esteem whenever he’s in my vicinity, because the only thing I can think about in this current situation is how to escape.
One of my legs steps behind the other and I jolt when my back hits the bike. I jerk one hand up. “Stop it!”
He swats it away effortlessly, as if it’s nothing more than a cardboard prop, then shoves the helmet on my head.
I try to resist and grab his wrist to push it away. He pauses and glares at me silently, so silently that it’s creepy.
How does he not want me to call him a creep when he scores a hundred for the vibe alone?
The moment he stops strapping the helmet in place, my struggle stops, too. Mostly due to his glare.
“If you want to touch me, all you have to do is ask. There’s no need to play hard to get for it.”
Heat flares in my cheeks when I realize I’m cradling his wrist, fingers stretching across his warm skin. Now that I’m not fighting him, it’s like I’m trying to grab his hand or something.
I release him with a jerk and he uses my flustered state to finish strapping on the helmet.
“Can you let me go?” I ask, softly this time, imploringly even.
For someone who obviously gets off on violence, countering it with the same medicine probably wouldn’t be as effective as trying the exact opposite.
“Not yet.”
He grabs the top of my books and I hug them further to my chest, which causes his fingers to brush against my breasts. A zip goes through me and my hold falters around the books.
Dylan all but yanks them out of my arms.
The man doesn’t have one gentle bone in his body. He dunks them in the saddlebag.
“Why are you confiscating my books?”
“You’ll get them back when we’re done.”
“Done with what?”
He casts me a glance, and I can’t help noticing the smudge of blood on his palm that he got from beating up those guys. Then leaving them wailing and groaning in the middle of the street.
That’s the type of person Dylan Hunter is. A man who solves problems with his fists and likes stealing other people’s identities just to teach me a lesson. So how come I’m caught in his web?
“You’ll find out.”
His tone is final, prohibiting any other questions.
He straddles his bike and revs the engine. I’m pretty sure he sees me flinching at the loud sound, and unless I’m imagining it, there’s a twitch of his lips, too.
I’ve always hated superbikes, sports cars, and anything with loud engines and crazy horsepower. The sensory overload hurts my ears and makes me want to hide in the nearest nook.
I cast a glance at my surroundings. The lot he parked in is isolated, but th
ere are two roads ahead. Surely, if I run, I’ll be able to find a passerby.
“Don’t even think about it.”
My wide eyes land on Dylan, who’s casually sitting on his bike and watching my every move.