Page 51 of Cold Mercy

“And what?” I challenge, shifting in my seat.

He hits the brakes slightly, the car jerking just enough to throw me forward against the seatbelt, then turns his head to look at me.

“And I will pull this car over right now,” he says, his voice terrifyingly calm, “and I will fix that attitude myself.”

My stomach flips at the warning in his voice, which somehow sounds more like a promise.

I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Wow,” I breathe out, fighting the flush rising on my neck. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” he warns, staring straight at my mouth. “I’m one second away from proving you wrong.”

When we finally arrive, I get out to open the gate, and he drives the car through, stopping by the house.

He gets out and hands me the keys, his eyes still burning with that same intense focus.

I yank the keys out of his hand, our fingers brushing.

He doesn't step back, but holds his ground in my space, his gaze dropping to mine with cold calculation.

“For the record,” he says, voice controlled. “I know you don’t want me close. You made that crystal last time.”

He steps in, just an inch, leaning down so his voice is right by my ear.

“But don't think I'll make it easy for you to ignore me. As long as we're stuck in the same room, I’m not going to pass up a single opportunity to fuck with you. Remember that.”

My breath hitches. He knows exactly what he said, and he knows exactly what it does to me.

“Sure,” I mutter, trying to sound bored. “Let’s just see how long you last without losing control.”

“Count the days. Because when I do, you’re going to enjoy every second of it.”

God, what an absolute asshole.

He says things like that, and I literally forget my own damn name. I forget that I’m angry. I forget that he’s goddamn trouble.

I step back toward the door, needing to put a wall between us before I do something stupid.

“Goodnight, Reed.”

He hesitates, like there’s something else clawing its way up his throat. Then he nods once. “Night, Sophia.”

CHAPTER 10

THOMAS

I watch her disappear behind the door without looking back. Fuck.

I miss the silence. I miss the version of Thomas who didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything and slept just fine because of it. I’d shut myself off in a heartbeat if I could, because feeling this much? It’s a liability. It’s a weakness I can’t afford.

But I can’t turn it off. I’m standing here in the dark like a fucking psychopath, staring at a closed door, already wondering what she’s doing on the other side.

Is she touching herself, imagining it’s my hand instead of hers? Is she trying to wash my scent off, or is she breathing it in? Does she realize it’s too late? Does she know I’m already inside her head, taking up space she wanted to keep empty?

It’s relentless. And the worst part is, it’s not just physical. If it were just about getting her naked, I could handle that. I could categorize it, fuck it out of my system, and move on. But it’s not. I want the sharp edges too. I want the anger, the sarcasm, the trauma she hides behind those eyes. I want to crack her open and see the wreckage, because I know it matches mine. I want her. All the messy, broken, beautiful disaster of her.

We are two different worlds, two different kinds of damage. Or maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we aren’t different at all. Maybe we’re just two ruins recognizing each other in the dark.