The sudden urge to remain in the truck and beg Maddox to keep driving is so strong that I have to chomp down on my bottom lip to keep the words from tumbling out. “Thank you,” I reply, tugging on the string on my shirt sleeve from earlier and mindlessly twirling it around the tip of my index finger once I pull it free of my shirt. “Thanks for the ride.” By the time the string is gone, I’ve wrapped it several times around the tip of my finger, effectively cutting off the blood from circulating to the area.

“So, not just blades then.”

I blink before pulling my hand out of sight. “Will you pose for me?” I ask, ignoring his remark.

He shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet. Like I said, I don’t have time to waste. You gotta make it worth my while.” I’m a target locked at the end of his loaded stare.

My tongue darts out to lick my lips nervously. “How?” I’m not altogether sane, but I’m not stupid. I know what he’s implying. I know where he’s steering this conversation. Even now, his unspoken words charge the air in the truck. It’s heavy and stifling. Every breath I take is saturated with his unrepentant sex appeal. A flush bursts in my cheeks when he reaches out a hand to cup my jaw and languidly grazes his thumb across my damp bottom lip. His gentle caress forces me to acknowledge the part of my flesh I refused to pay attention to before. It’s awareness that’s too strange, too foreign, and yet remarkably familiar. He makes it familiar. I’m a girl and he’s a boy and the suggestion of his touch makes me cognizant of that. It’s electrifying. I want more of it. My breasts feel so full that every time I breathe my tight, pebbled nipples chafe with the sweetest torture against my bra. My pulse is racing, fluttering to the same maddening cadence of my beating heart.

“You’re a smart girl, Aylee. I’m sure you can come up with something.” The dropped octave of his voice coaxes a slickness that runs hot and wet in the valley between my legs. The way it dampens my panties is both embarrassing and oddly alluring.

His sensual mouth forms a grin like he knows. Like he understands exactly how his touch is a sweet devastation. “You should go now.” I mourn the retreat of his hand. “Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I…” Don’t let me leave. “Thank you, again.” I remember to grab both my canvas bag and my backpack before I jump out of his truck and close the door behind me. I’m about halfway between the house and the truck before I give into temptation and look over my shoulder. Maddox is looking back, gaze focused on me. I falter in my next step like my body is trying to turn in the opposite direction. Toward the white pickup. Toward Maddox. Toward something unknown and yet so beguiling. But I don’t. I do nothing. The chance to do or say anything has passed. My cowardice is in control now, and it won’t contemplate any sort of defiance. Meek, weak, and regulated, I walk toward the house, toward Tim, toward a misery that I know, one I’ve been conditioned to never stray away from. My subconscious crawls further inside that dark place in my head, while reinforcing walls I’ve built so long ago, preparing for the worse.

The worse is a strong hand at the nape of my neck when I get close enough for Tim to grab me. It’s a viselike grip he uses to guide me the rest of the way to the house. I pray Maddox has driven away by now. I pray he doesn’t stay to see this.

Chapter 11

Maddox

It’s not your motherfucking problem.

She’s not your motherfucking problem.

Mind your own motherfucking business and keep driving, asshole.

This is the annoying-ass banter taking place inside my head while I’m white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel. I’m rolling down the street of this Pleasantville nightmare, my usual lead foot barely skimming the gas. In my neighborhood, if you’re driving this slow, you’re either going to shoot up the place or you’re looking for drive-thru ass. It sure as fuck wouldn’t be because you’re seldom-working conscious decides to take this particular time to fire on all cylinders.

“Fuck!” A hard punch to the steering wheel does nothing to take away my irritation. Telling myself I want nothing to do with this chick seems like a moot fucking point as I make a U-ey at the stop sign and double back to her house.

Aylee Bennett has ‘clingy virgin’ written all over her, and after Grace, I’m not in the market for another sycophant. It would be smart of me to continue down the road, hop on the interstate, and drive my ass back to the slums. Light a blunt, maybe hit up Bria, and forget all about the scared little mouse and the fear I saw in her doe, mismatched eyes. That sort of fear is ingrained. It’s the sort of fear that comes with some pretty heavy shit, and from what I saw of her arms, she was trying to kill monsters on the inside by cutting herself on the outside. Somebody put those monsters there. And I would bet my left nut that it was her old man. The way he’d grabbed her just now set off old warning signals I’ve recognized since I was a child.

But honestly, I shouldn’t fucking care. Jesus, I don’t even know the girl. What the fuck is she going to do for me? What the hell am I going to gain if I fuck around and get involved? Not a goddamn thing, that’s what. She sure as hell doesn’t look like the type to give up her pussy without tacking on some emotional baggage to it. I have all this running through my head, and I know getting involved is one of the stupidest things I could possibly do, but trying to convince myself to do otherwise is pointless right now.

I come up to the front curb of her house, park the truck, and jump out. From here on, I’m running on autopilot, because if I let myself think about this anymore, it’s more than likely I’ll say ‘fuck it,’ and leave. I get to the porch. I’m standing in front of her door when I hear the crash. I’m not dumb enough to make excuses for what that sound could be. I already know. I raise my fisted hand and pound at the door.

Chapter 12

Aylee

I forget all about Maddox and his touch and my furtive sexual awakening when I’m shoved inside the foyer. The door slamming shut coincides with my stumble over the blue-and-brown, patterned carpet in the entryway. Losing my grip on the bags, I catch myself before I fall, but Tim is there, wrenching my arm back so hard that it feels like he pulled it out of its socket. I cry out, tears forming in my eyes as he shoves me against the wall.

“You fucking lying to us now?” He’s pressed up against me, a large mass of rage and evil intent stuffed into a man’s body. His hand is at my throat, fingers curling around my neck as he forces me to look at him. His gin-soaked breath wafts across my face like fumes from an exhaust pipe, while black, glazed eyes spear right through me. “Where the fuck were you?”

A small whimper escapes my mouth as my mind scrambles to come up with an answer. “With…with Mallory…”

The back of his hand smashes across my cheek even before I can finish the lie. The impact of the blow is hard enough that the side of my head whips to the other side and smacks into the wall. Dizziness washes over me, but it’s nothing compared to the scorching blaze firing up and down my cheek.

“Are you fucking guys now? Letting their disgusting dicks in you? You still a fucking virgin?” This he asks very close and very quietly to my ear. He wouldn’t dare say it above a furious whisper. He reaches for the collar of my shirt and yanks it down hard enough to tear.

“Tim?” It’s Rachel’s distressed and quiet call that stops him.

“Lie to me again and I’ll rip your tongue out of your filthy lying mouth!” His spittle splashes against the side of my face as he beats me down with his fury.