Page 73 of Fallen Rook

It was the pent-up lust, from not plowing into him yet. Yeah. That’s all.

Desire. Potent. Simple. Manageable.

“You’re staring.” He gave me that lopsided cocky smirk of his.

I swallowed. “I’m trying not to.”

“How’s that going for you?”

“Not good.”

He tilted his head sideways. “Everything good, bro?”

“You should leave.”

Enzo looked baffled. “Leave? But I just got here.”

“I don’t trust myself around you right now.”

“Well, I trust myself to kill you if you try anything stupid. So why don’t you offer me some bee—”

“I’m highly toxic, Enzo.”

“I’m developing a tolerance,” he volleyed back, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

He still wasn’t getting it. I wasn’t eager to divulge even more information about myself, my past, and my issues, but he needed to understand that I was not fucking around this time.

“Remember I told you about my PTSD? Well, I’m having a dark spell. I’m in a state of hyperarousal,” I clipped out, pushing the words one at a time. The vulnerability of the them made me feel like I stripped all my clothes and a layer of my skin. “I’m off my meds, and I’m not completely in charge of my actions right now. I don’t have many episodes anymore. But when I do, they’re bad. Please leave.”

“I can handle you.” His whiskey eyes met mine.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” My damn voice broke, and it took everything in me not to punch him for it. “Please, Enzo, leave.”

I needed him to get out right now. I couldn’t stomach his seeing me like this. No one ever had in the past.

No one but Matt. And I couldn’t afford a rerun of what happened to him.

“No.” He seemed to be digging his heels into the parquet, leveling his gaze with my own. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he said softly.

Why couldn’t he leave me the fuck alone? My entire life had consisted of people who came running asking for help, but never offered any. I’d gotten used to it. Even learned to thrived on it.

I held the power. I was the protector.

Only Enzo refused to be protected.

I was shaking, desperate for my pound of flesh.

“If you don’t get out in the next minute, I’m not responsible for my actions.”

“Does it hurt to breathe?” he asked quietly.

“What?” I snarled, the rage hotly pulsating inside my veins.

How dare he be so soft? So understanding? So fucking perfect when he—he—was supposed to be the villain in this story?

“I asked if it hurts to breathe.”

I didn’t answer.