My jacket jerks. Hailey slams into me, arms thrown around my chest. Her sobs smear across my lapel. She clings to me like a drowning child.
“Please! We don’t have to be over. We can make this work. I know we’re meant to be?—”
“Yeah,” I say flatly, trying to wrench her off. “We’re not.”
She only clutches harder. In her scramble, she drags me down enough to plant a desperate kiss—wet, quick, pathetic—on my lips. Then another on my cheek before I shove her back.
And that’s when I see her.
Hellkitten.
Standing framed in the porch light, snow spinning around her. Face pale, eyes wide, mouth parted—not with awe, but with the kind of betrayal that can break bone.
The glitz and noise of the party vanish. Hailey’s sobs, the crowd’s whispers, the stench of smoke. All gone.
All I feel is my victory turning to acid in my throat.
One glance from her, and I feel the ground give beneath me.
thirty-two
The scentof forest and expensive cologne clings to my sweatshirt as I glare at Aiden getting mauled by that bitch.
His leather belt trembles in my fist, itching to strike. Snapping the slat off the headboard and slipping free of my binds—that was easy.
But seeingthis? This is hard.
I’d heard enough through the closed doors of the ballroom. Watched him burn down the engagement in front of everyone as they opened a crack, only to let Hailey cling like she still has a claim. Maybe I should correct her delusion with the buckle end of this strap.
But then I see it—the fear behind Aiden’s blue eyes. Not fear of her. Fear ofmeleaving.
And he loves to chase.
So I run. Tight jeans, thick-soled sneakers, full sprint toward the woods. Let’s see how Mr. Fancy Suit keeps up in the muck.
“Stop! Ashlyn! Don’t?—”
Hailey hits the ground as he throws her off andbarrels after me. His heavy strides pound through the night. Branches snap. His breath cuts sharply through the air behind me.
The trees are widening, growing closer together and becoming easier for me to hide from him, but not for long.
“Fuck off!” I scream, feral, before he scoops me into one arm.
“Want me to drug you again? Because that’s what’ll happen.”
I swing the belt at his head, but he crushes my wrist until he stumbles and drops me. His body lands hard across mine, pinning me flat. Nails, teeth, kicks—useless. In two heartbeats, I’m slung over his shoulder, legs dangling helplessly.
Just like that time I stole his precious penknife my first summer at Crest in retaliation for taking my brownie. Except I seemed to be able to inflict more damage than I am now.
“One morefuckingword, baby girl, and your punishment’s going to be even worse. I promise you.”
“Make it worse, fucker.”
The belt cracks across my ass, making me yelp. He answers with three more in brutal a rhythm. My body jerks in his grip, but he doesn’t falter.
“I’m starting to get used to this view,” I grit out, panting. “Your favorite thing now? Parading me like cargo?”
Silence stretches. Only his steady strides and the winter night breathing around us. Then, low, against my hair: “No. My favorite thing is burying myself inside you until you make that throaty sound.”