Page 7 of Wicked Titan

My hand is immediately released from the unwanted grip, and I turn to find myself nose to nose with emerald-green eyes. Hades. I won’t be fooled by the angelic face hiding an unseen evil. Something lurking beneath the surface tells me he’s just as wicked as the god of the underworld. And I don’t need rescuing. That’s for dainty damsels in distress, not me.

“Move out of my way.” The urge to punch him in his perfect face gets stronger as I want to kick Elliot’s ass for bringing me over here.

A slight smile peaks at his lips, but I can still feel hostility exuding from his rigid posture. I don’t know what I could’ve possibly done to infuriate him, but he sure as hell deserves my rage more than I deserve his. He’s probably only four or five inches taller than me but it feels more like ten feet. And I’m aware of every powerful inch of his solid, muscular body as he unnervingly looms over me. This is one of the few moments I can recall feeling fragile. It’s not something I’m accustomed to because while my physique is lean, it’s also toned and strong from the countless hours of hauling my body up the side of a mountain.

“Move,” I say sternly as he leans closer without touching me, even though I didn’t think there was any space remaining between us. There’s no way I’ll succumb to his pathetic attempt of intimidation. My universe disintegrated around me two weeks ago. This asshat is an insignificant molehill compared to the immense mountain I’m still trying to get a steady grasp on. “Don’t touch me.”

His mouth is close enough to my ear that I feel his warm breath on my skin as a shiver goes down my body before he speaks. “That’s what I thought.”

My teeth clench together as I look to the side, meeting his eyes. I don’t give a flying fuck how hot he is or what he’s doing to my body. I’m over all of it. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be with my friends. I should be with Mason. “Go fuck yourself.”

He smirks as he steps aside, allowing me to pass.

“Be careful with that one, Asher. She might take it as an invitation,” Wade says with an obnoxious laugh.

I swing around to step in front of the obnoxious jerk, but Asher blocks my way. “Don’t start something I’ll have to finish for you.”

“I don’t need you to finish anything for me.” The only thing I need from him is to back the hell off. I’ve known Asher all of a few meager minutes and he’s provoked more intense emotions straight from my core than anyone I’ve ever known. Somehow his stupidly divine, satisfied face communicates to me on a gut level that he is a person who houses nothing but despair beneath the beautiful surface that draws you in just to take pleasure in your suffering. And he is already smothering me with his mere presence.

“Is that so?” He steps backward before taking a seat on the stone wall, his eyes boring into mine before looking over to Wade. “Yep. This one definitely has daddy abandonment issues.”

All I see is red as I charge, jabbing my hands forward so they meet his solid frame. He starts falling backwards, and it all happens so fast, but I swear I see a smirk on his face as his fingers encircle my wrists, hauling me over the wall with him as we fall into the water below with a thunderous splash.

5

One thing is for sure … my day can’t get any worse. It can only look up from here. At least I hope so, as I sit in the principal’s office on the first day of school before I’ve even made it to my first class. The old me would be panicking. I’d be worried about my spotless record receiving a mark and messing up my opportunities at the University of Tennessee.

The new me is numb, unable to feel anything but anger or pain. Even the smooth cotton of the sweatpants covering my legs feel restraining. My thumb rubs the gold stitching of the school emblem just above the word “Bulldogs” trailing down the leg. What does any of it matter? In the blink of an eye, it can all be taken away and replaced with something different, something fake and bizarre. None of it matters.

Asher shifts in the chair next to me, bringing my attention back to the shit magnet sitting in nothing but a pair of sweatpants even though he was offered the same school T-shirt and matching hoodie as me.

Distracting myself, I grab my phone from my messenger bag—thankfully safeguarded by Elliot since he’d insisted upon carrying it. I might not want to use my phone just yet, but I don’t want the option taken from me. Staring at my phone, an already recognizable and infuriating voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Message from your boyfriend?” Asher asks, a tightness in his voice.

“None of your business,” I reply, scrolling through a few messages from friends. The friends I should be in class with right now. “Put on a shirt or something.”

He remains reclined back in the chair, his lazy expression growing even more irritating by the moment as he begins to speak. “The more you show your weakness, the more I’ll use it against you.”

A snort escapes before I can stop it. “Weakness? Not a chance.”

In a split second, he’s in front of me, a hand on each of the chair’s arms, trapping me—again—while hovering over me. I tilt back and growl, “Do not touch me.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t touch you … not until you beg me to put my hands on you. And once I do, you’ll keep asking for more.”

Trying my damnedest not to show his affect on me, I look him dead in the eye, inching forward but not touching him as I respond, “That will never happen.”

“Which one of us are you trying to convince, weakling?” he smirks as I inhale the intoxicating scent that lingers around him. How did he submerge in a lake and still come out smelling like sheer bliss?

“You really should go to therapy or something. It can’t be healthy to carry around that big of a head.”

A grin spreads across his face as he whispers in my ear, “Therapy didn’t work, but I’ll be happy to tell you all about my big head.”

He casually sits back in the chair, pretending he hadn’t made a crude remark to me. “You’re disgusting.”

“Your words and your body aren’t in agreement.”

Ugh. He’s impossible. “Your words and reality aren’t in agreement.”