Page 56 of Fueled Hate

Dylan appears in the doorway, halting as he catches me studying his nearly empty bedroom.

“I didn’t realize … with your car and then Bryce’s and his hotel, I just thought—”

“Where I live makes no difference on who I am.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” I utter.

“But it does.”

“No. It doesn’t.” My sympathy fades as the idiot won’t even let me apologize for assuming he was just another overindulged, pampered brat like Kyle. It does explain his insecurity with Kyle and his comment about the tuition, but it’s no reason for him to be such a dickwad. “You can’t even let me say I’m sorry without being insufferable, can you? You know what—I’m not sorry. I couldn’t care less how much money you do or don’t have. It seems to bother you a helluva lot more than it bothers me.”

His expression hardens as he takes a lingering look around the apartment. Yep. Struck that exposed nerve. Again.

Dylan takes a calculated step forward, then hooks his finger under my chin and lifts my face to his before brushing his fingertips along my jawline. “I know for a fact that it wasn’t great sex, or even tolerable sex, that kept you going back for more. So, if that asshat’s wealth didn’t contribute to you putting up with him, why else would you allow him to treat you like a doormat for all those years?”

It had been a mystery to me for a while too, but I won’t give Dylan the satisfaction of an explanation. He probably wouldn’t understand or believe me, no matter the reason. His tender touch fused with his cruel words are a perfect example of how he gets enjoyment from twisting me around.

“You have no room to talk about how anyone treats me. And you might not be a spoiled punk, but you are a callous son of a bitch.”

He doesn’t react to my words. His eyes are locked on my mouth as his thumb brushes over my lips. “How did you not see it? What was going on right under your nose.”

Yeah. There’s my exposed nerve. Thanks again for reminding me that I’ve been in the dark while my dad and Kyle have a deeper alliance with each other than I ever had with either of them.

Jerking away from Dylan’s hold, I rub my hand across my mouth and every spot of skin he’d been touching on my face, unsuccessfully attempting to remove the feel of him. “I’m done. This isn’t getting us any closer to the truth.”

“No, we’re not done. You need answers as much as I do. You’re just afraid of what you’ll find.”

Looking to him, I admit something I shouldn’t. “No. I’m terrified of what you’ll find and use against me because you have the power to hurt me more than Kyle ever could.” My voice breaks as I turn, walking to the front door and pulling it open.

Dylan’s palm slams into the door, shutting it as his arm remains next to my head, my back to him. “Bryce knows me better than anyone else … and he’s right. I am terrified of you. I came here for Noah, but I want to stay for you.”

My breath hitches. I feel his body hovering behind me, so close but not touching. Yet, I feel more from him than I’ve ever felt from anyone else. How does he do it? How does he touch me without laying a finger on me? “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why did you allow him to have you so easily, but you keep hiding from me?” His warm breath floats over my neck, sending a shiver through me as goose bumps appear on my arms. It’s the perfect example—proof—of his ability to make me feel things, intensely and profoundly, by only breathing on me. That is what terrifies me.

Rubbing my palms over the tingling flesh, attempting to scrub the evidence away of his effect on me, I clutch my arms across my chest, guarding my heart literally and figuratively. “I can’t do this, not with you.”

His lips brush along my neck. “I can’t do this without you.”

Fuck. Sometimes I wish he’d just be an asshole all of the time and keep his stupid words to himself. “Stop it. I’ll wait for you in the car.”

“This isn’t a neighborhood to be running around by yourself in.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” he mutters, shoving off the door as I pull it open and step outside, taking a deep breath of air.

I don’t make it to his car before he’s trailing behind me down the broken path, a duffel bag in his hand. I’d like to ask what’s in it but every time I ask him a question, I get more information than I bargained for. He tosses the bag on the back seat as I plop down in the passenger seat. Hopefully, this is our last stop on today’s crazy tour because I’m mentally drained.

Relief floods me as he heads back to my place. At least until we pull into the parking lot and he exits the car right behind me, duffel bag in hand as we step into my apartment. He drops the bag just inside the door as I eye him, unable to refrain from asking, “What is that?”

“Clothes.”

“Of course.” Of freakin’ course. Clothes. Because he plans on staying here.

“Bryce is waiting outside for me. We’ll be back later tonight.” He reaches in his pocket, walks to me, and hands me a key fob.

“Um. Okay.” I hold up the key fob with a confused look.