Page 43 of Adam
He really doesn’t know where to stop. Surprisingly, Adam doesn’t react to Arnold’s mockery. He folds his hands in front of his lower abdomen, and stiffens like a soldier.
“He listens,” Arnold continues.
“Cut it, already,” I snap, my eyes widening.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re coming.” He steps closer, takes my hand, and plants a kiss on my knuckles. “Just like the old days.”
“Oh, come on,” Adam mumbles, clearly irritated.
“What old days? None of them are coming back.” I scoff bitterly.
“You never know,” he says quietly, a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulls me closer. “Booze might help you relax,” he adds, slipping his arm around my waist.
The moment his hand touches me, something curdles in my stomach. I feel it instantly, that crawling, skin-prickling discomfort. It’s not the kind of awkwardness I feel around Adam, with all his intense stares and heavy silence. This is different. With Adam, it’s complicated. With Arnold, it’s simple. I hate his hands on me. I hate the way he touches me like it’s casual, like he’s entitled to it.
I want to shove him off. But for a second, I freeze, stuck between disgust and disbelief that he actually thinks this is okay.
“I don’t drink,” I say, pushing him away.
He pulls me closer. “It’s never too late to start.”
Desperation floods my veins, pure revulsion crawling up my spine and tightening my chest.
“Arnold, back off.”
“Come on?—”
Swiftly, Adam grabs a fistful of Arnold’s open-shirt collar and yanks him closer.
“Listen to me, you nasty cockroach.Ilisten to her, while you, on the other hand, must be obviously stupid,” he says coldly, tapping Arnold’s cheek with his palm as his grip tightens. “Unless you’re deaf, in which case I deeply apologize for almost mistaking you for someone with basic respect.”
Everyone around has stopped what they were doing and is staring at us. We’re giving them one hell of a show.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Arnold blurts out.
Adam grabs his face and pushes him until his back meets the classroom’s door.
“You made three mistakes, cutie-pie,” Adam says, his voice dripping with disdain. “One.” He holds up a finger. “Her name is not Bella, nor Isi, or Isa.”
“But—”
“Two.” He shoves his back harder against the door and raises two fingers. “You thought I was on a leash.” His twisted smilespreads. “I’m not.” He draws his gun and drives it up under Arnold’s jaw.
Everyone freezes. A few students scramble to call someone—probably the cops or a teacher. Arnold’s shaking, barely able to stand.
“Please, no!” I shout, desperate.
“Three,” he growls, voice cold and dead. “You dared to touch her like she was yours to touch.”
“I’m sorry,” Arnold sobs.
“Let me spell it out for you,” Adam hisses through clenched teeth.
“Adam, no,” I breathe, incapable of raising my voice higher.
Adam grabs him, violently wrenches him around, slams his face into the door, twists his arm up to the breaking point, and grinds his head against the wood. Arnold groans with pain, but Adam is unstoppable.
“She may be my boss, but I’m the one who’ll kill you if you ever touch her again. She can fire me after I hack you open, tear out your guts while you’re still breathing, and hang you with them like meat on a hook, you fucking Prince Charming.”
