Page 86 of Awakening the Beast
His big hand sweeps down my back, fingers lightly grazing my skin before settling possessively on my ass.
“See? Fucking beautiful,” he growls, his dark eyes gliding down the front of me.
We linger for another hour, chatting about everything and nothing, cherishing some normality. As the evening gets later, Arlo's hand finds mine, and with a tug, he pulls me towards the exit.
“Come on. The night is far from fucking over,” he says with a sudden intensity pouring out of him.
I follow him eagerly, my tall heels clicking against the pavement as I try to keep up with his long legs. As we approach his sleek, black matte Mustang, he opens the door for me. I slip inside, and he rounds the front of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat.
With the beastly engine roaring to life, he glances over at me, his eyes sparkling with darkness.
“Ready for the next part of our night?”
I look at him confused, wondering what he is up to, but I know him all too well. He has something devious up his sleeve. Of course, a night with him could never be normal.
I glance through the tinted, rain-splattered window of Arlo’s Mustang as we pull up in a strange area. As he cuts the engine, I stare at a distant, dark silhouette of a massive building that looms, foreboding and unfamiliar. The place looks abandoned.
“What are we doing here, Arlo?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from the harrowing structure.
“There’s only one person on this planet who can fucking train you right, beautiful, and that’s me,” he declares. His tone is steady, and the words hang heavy in the air, making me whip my head around to face him.
I stare into his expressionless dark eyes, now suddenly half-hidden behind a balaclava, the sight of it sending an electrifying thrill through me and my palms grow clammy as unease builds inside me.
“Training? Why would I need training?” I question with a lifted brow in defiance.
He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as they trace the length of my body with a greedy gleam. He shifts in his seat, turning to face me fully, his tattooed arm casually draped over the steering wheel.
“Everyone needs fucking training,” he states firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re not invincible yet, slut. If anyone’s gonna to do it, it’s me.”
The bluntness of his words, paired with the dangerous edge in his tone, sends a shiver down my spine. The weight of what he's saying settles in, a blend of fear and dark arousal coiling within me as I try to figure out what’s about to happen.
I swallow hard, but then a small smirk creeps across my lips as I face forward, avoiding his gaze. I side-eye him, watching as he reaches into the back seat, grabbing something. When he sits back, I see him holding another black balaclava.
Without warning, he leans over, roughly shoving it onto my head and pulling it over my face. I stare at him with wide eyes, trying to process what he’s doing as he takes in my appearance. His gaze flickers down, and I watch in confusion as he straps a bulletproof vest over his tight black shirt, moving calmly.
“Arlo,” I say, my tone now laced with uncertainty, “I’m only in my heels and this mini dress. Can’t we do this another night?”
I feel way out of my depth, knowing I might not be able to outmanoeuvre him dressed like this.
He inhales deeply, his eyes focused on the straps he’s fastening, still refusing to look at me. “Rule one: Don’t wear the shit you wear if you can’t understand that threats can happen at any time of the day, no matter what the fuck you’re wearing.”
Finally, he lifts his eyes to mine, wicked and sharp. “You need to learn how to fucking defend yourself in whatever you’re wearing if you want to continue dressing like a little whore for me.”
The reality of what he's saying sinks in—this isn’t just about playing dress-up; this is about survival, about being prepared for anything, anytime, no matter what. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize how serious he is. The gravity of the situation finally hits me that he wants me to shoot at him, but the excitement ofknowing he might do unholy things to me as soon as he gets the chance makes it all even more thrilling.
I can tell with his demeanor. Arlo loves to chase me. To put me in crazy situations. He loves that undeniable pulse-racing pleasure of catching me when I am at the height of my fear, and then taking what he wants. The way he looks at me now, dark eyes glittering with hunger and control, tells me everything. He’s setting it up, and I’m the prey he’s about to hunt.
“But what if I accidentally kill you?” I ask, being absolutely truthful because the thought fucking terrifies me.
His eyes search mine before he gives a small shoulder shrug, “Then you fucking kill me. I want you to hit me at least once, preferably in this vest and if you can make it back to this car without me, then you win.”
I blink blankly at him, “You want me to do what?”
He calmly raises his chin toward the structure in the distance, “Get out of the fucking car. Go into that building and try to kill me, Wren. I won’t tell you again.” he orders.
I nod knowing it would be weak of me to back out. This is a test. His test and I am willing to play just to prove a point if that’s what he wants. Adrenaline spikes through me as I reach for the door handle and the cold, night air hits me as I step out, the sound of rain splattering against the ground and my bare skin adding to the tense surroundings.
My heels tap against the pavement until I stand staring the abandoned building, my heart racing. I hear a distant rumble of thunder just as Arlo steps out behind me, his aura intimidating.
