Page 199 of Adam
“Don’t be,” he breathes. “You saved me. And you made it look hot.”
I press my lips to his. He kisses me back, slow and shaky, his breath hitching. His mouth tastes like blood and iron, but he’s okay. He’s here.
“Hey, Ken doll,” Cain shouts from across the room, voice annoyed. “Tell your psycho murder girlfriend to let us the fuck out, yeah? I’ve got a girl waiting at home, and I’d rather not show up looking like a corpse.”
Adam groans softly against my mouth. “That idiot’s still alive?”
“Unfortunately,” I mutter, pulling back just enough to glance at Cain.
I stand up and start untying him. His skin is torn where the straps held too tight, but he doesn’t flinch. He just watches me with that worn-out smirk.
I help him to his feet. He’s shaky but standing. He takes three steps before stopping.
“Wait,” he mutters, his breath still uneven. “This isn’t over. Cops will be here soon.”
I grip his arm tighter. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
He gives a tired laugh and shakes his head. “No, it’s really not. I’m not built for quiet. I’m not gonna fake smiles or shake hands with people who’d rather see me in a cage. I can’t settle for anything less than being myself.”
I stare at him, unsure if he’s trying to warn me or convince me.
“What are you saying?”
“You’re free now, little orchid. You can run. Start over. Be whoever the world says you’re supposed to be.”
He wipes blood from his mouth. “But if that doesn’t feel enough … if peace feels more like a fucking cage, there’s another way.”
He leans in, grinning sinisterly.
“Liberation. Chaos.” His eyes widen, wild and burning. “You already know what it feels like to feel powerful. Let’s never give it back.”
The words hit something in me I don’t want to admit exists.
I look at him, and for a second, I almost say yes. Because part of me wants it. Part of me wants to follow him into that storm, to feel that high again. Louder. But the rest of me is still shaking. Still stuck in the blood, screams and the sound of my own voice begging.
This isn’t me.
Or it wasn’t.
Now, I don’t know.
And now I don’t know if I’m standing here because I survived, or because he dragged me far enough into the dark that I don’t know how to crawl back out.
He tilts his head, that familiar edge creeping back in.
“So, what’s it gonna be, Isabella?”
Meeting Isabella has been the most exciting, fucked-up thing that’s ever happened to me. I saw her, and something in me snapped, with this all-consuming fucking obsession that rooted deep and refused to loosen its grip. It was instant, violent, and I didn’t even try to fight it.
I wanted it.
I wanted her.
And I don’t give a single shit if anyone thinks that sounds overdone. They don’t know what it’s like to want someone in the way I want her. Like a fucking sickness I wouldn’t cure if I had the chance.
She looked like a scared little thing when I found her, trying to play small, but there was fire in her.
She had more guts than half the dickless pricks walking around pretending to be men, and she didn’t even need to prove it. Just being there, breathing, existing with that stubborn edge.
