Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 8
Yes, where the hell do I recognize you from?
But, instead, I just shake my head, “That’s it…for now.”
He extends his hand and I take it, sliding off the bar stool. Except, when I loosen my grip, he doesn’t let go, rotating my hand and intertwining his fingers in mine. The chill of the night air gives me a burst of energy as I follow him down the pavement toward the path along the river, the beaming skyscrapers behind us giving the sky a greyish hue.
“You know,” Colson glances at me out of the corner of his eye, “I can show you a video of one of the bears.”
I stop dead in my tracks and look up at him, intrigued. He grins and motions to the brick wall lining the path. At the wall, I turn around and hop up on the edge while Colson begins scrolling through his pictures. Finally, he turns his phone on its side and hands it to me, tapping the play icon.
In the distance, a giant brown bear lumbers across the wet sand of a beach, coming closer to a cluster of tents. It takes a whole minute for the bear to arrive at the tents, where murmurs can be heard in the background. It towers over the tents and folding chairs before it stops, sniffs one of the chairs, and then continues on, unconcerned with the bystanders.
I look up at Colson, impressed, “Wow,” I hand the phone back to him, “OK, that’s pretty cool.”
He rolls his eyes, “Pretty cool…”
“I said it was cool!” I shoot back with a laugh.
“Fine,” he tucks his phone back into his coat pocket, “then tell me something cool about you.”
I take a deep breath, gazing out into the black water, “I don’t know.” I try to think of something as interesting as camping on beaches and getting sniffed out by apex predators, but nothing immediately comes to mind.
“Yes, you do,” Colson scoffs, “quit being shy.”
There is one thing. But I never really talk about it with anyone except Barrett. I stare across the path at a random spot in the grass, debating whether to even go there. But, for some inexplicable reason, Colson feels like a safe person to tell. Even if he did act like a douche…
Fine, what the hell.
I turn to meet his eyes, “I want to write books.”
Colson stares at me for a few moments, until I feel like maybe I made a mistake by telling him. Then a faint smile crawls across his face, “What kind of books?”
“Fiction. Thrillers, suspense, horror—dark stuff.”
He studies me with those icy fucking eyes, like he’s trying to decide whether I’m serious. I stare back at him, waiting for some reaction.
“Have you written anything?”
“Yes,” I look down at the pavement, “but nothing complete.”
“Can I read it?”
I hesitate, caught off-guard, “Do you like that kind of stuff?” I did not expect this response from him.
Colson glances off to the side, “Dark stuff? Yes. And if it’s coming from your head,” he turns his attention back to me, “then, yes, I definitely want to read it.”
“You might be waiting a while, but I’ll let you know when it’s finished.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime,” he steps between my legs, still dangling from the edge of the wall, “you know what else would be cool?”
I arch my brow at him, “What?”
Colson slides his hand around the back of my neck and gently pulls my face to his. But, even as a wave of butterflies explodes through my stomach, I tilt my head to the side, evading his lips.
He can apologize, bring me signed copies of books by one of my favorite authors, drive me to Cincinnati, buy me dinner on the river, and listen to my hopes and dreams, but he’s not about to get away with his insolence that easily. Maybe it’s petty, but I’m not over his superb assholery inviting me to a party and then humiliating me in front of my friends.
Colson eyes me for a moment and then gently pulls me to him again. This time, I lift my chin so his lips brush my neck. I level my head, looking him in the eye the entire time just to match his own brand of arrogance.
His mouth curls into a half-smile that would drive me wild if I didn’t have my own agenda at the moment, “Whatcha doing?”
“What are you doing?” I taunt back.
Colson looks me up and down, “Trying to see what you taste like.”
I lean forward until my nose touches his, “Ask me nicely,” I whisper with a wry smile.
Something subtle changes in his expression, and if I hadn’t been staring into those pale blue eyes, I never would’ve noticed. It feels like I’ve gone from the girl he flirts with in class to his next meal.
Colson lowers his arms and wraps them around my waist, pulling me closer to him by the small of my back. I don’t budge, my hands flat on the cold brick next to my legs. He nudges my head to the side, leaning in until his breath rushes into my ear.
“Let me kiss you,” he flicks my earlobe with his tongue, sending a chill up my spine, “please.”
I pull back to meet his eyes and shoot him a coy smile, “I’ll think about it,” I whisper back.
I press my hands against his chest, gently pushing him back so I can jump down from the wall. Colson eyes me as I brush past him and return to the walking path, stopping on the pavement to wait for him.
Once he joins me, he nods toward the hillside and offers his hand, “Let’s go.”
I gladly slide my fingers into his and follow him back up the path to the parking lot. Back at his Bronco, he opens the passenger door, but then steps in front of me, blocking my way.
He motions to me with his index finger, “Come here,” and when I do, he bows his head and gazes down at me with a smile as thick and sugary as honey, “you should know something.” Suddenly, he seizes the top of my throat between his thumb and forefinger and backs me against the open door.
My hand flies to his wrist in surprise and my heart begins to race, bombarded with a bizarre mixture of confusion, adrenaline, and more thrill than I’d like to admit. He leans in, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me by force, but all he does is give my throat a gentle squeeze, “You’re going to pay for that back there,” he murmurs before dropping his arm and nodding at me to get into the car.
I snap my mouth shut after realizing it’s hanging halfway open, and hastily climb into the Bronco. I watch Colson’s every movement as he strolls around the front of the car to the driver’s side and, a second later, I feel my phone vibrate. I dig my phone out of my jacket to see a text from Barrett.
BARRETT (10:13PM): You’re in Cincinnati????
How does she know that? Oh, yeah, I’m tagged in pictures…
ME (10:14PM): I’ll tell you about it later.
Her response is filled with a barrage of shocked face emojis and an excessive amount of fire icons. I grin and drop my phone into my bag as Colson opens the door. I glance over at him as he collapses into the driver’s seat, trying to ignore the fact that I’m more attracted to him now than I was two minutes ago.
And I probably shouldn’t be.
“So, what are we doing?” I chirp, trying to ignore the ember catching fire in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t know, I have two hours to decide,” Colson replies as he turns the key in the ignition, bringing the Bronco to life. “Maybe I’ll still see what you taste like.”
I shoot him a look from the passenger seat, “I still didn’t say you could kiss me.”
He gives me a once-over and shifts into drive, “I don’t have to kiss you to find that out.”
●●●
When I wake up, it’s still dark. I can see the moon in the window, but the silhouettes of the trees are upside down. Why are they upside down? And why do I feel like I’m moving? Where am I?
I’m jolted awake as I fall off the bed and hit the rug. I can’t move one of my arms. Colson has hold of my wrist and is dragging me across the floor away from the bed. I try to roll over and get up, but my muscles don’t work. I’m only half-awake, murmuring incoherently, and I’m moving too quickly to find my footing.
Finally, Colson releases my wrist and lets me fall with a thud onto the floor, startling me awake.
It’s cold. I’m naked.
I see a shadow pass over me and then he grabs my shoulder and jerks me onto my back before dropping down and lodging his knees on either side of my hips. His fingertips dig into my shoulders as he grabs me and slams me into the floor, over and over. I see stars, but I’m not sure whether they’re in the window or my head.
“Colson!” I gasp for air and my arms fly to his shoulders, but he crosses his forearm over my chest and pins them back down.
He’s pressing me into the floor so hard I think my bones might shatter under his strength.
“Shut up!” Colson shouts through his teeth before he lets me go long enough to lunge for the side table next to the bed.
I roll over in time to see him jerk open the drawer and grab something before spinning back around. My body is pulsing with adrenaline, but my legs won’t cooperate and I can’t stand up in time. In one stride he’s on me again. He grabs my bicep and wrenches my arm back, throwing me across the floor.
“Colson, stop!” I cough as a sharp pain radiates through my shoulder.
He steps over me and drops down onto my hips, smashing my shoulders into the floor with his arm again. When his other arm swings into view, I see the outline of a gun in his hand. I let out a shrill, airy scream, my eyes fixed on the black 9mm held out at his side. And then I see his face. He looks dead behind the eyes. His pupils are dilated, making his irises look black instead of blue.
He presses my hips into the carpet, his jaw clenched in a blind rage. Screams burn my throat as I claw at his arm with one hand while extending my other out in front of me, as if blocking his gun with my splayed-out fingers will protect me.
I let out another jarring howl as Colson raises his arm and brings the gun down, pointing it between my eyes, “No, no, no, no, no!” I scream as my legs flail beneath him in a surge of panic.
“I said shut the fuck up!” he yells so loud I think my eardrums will burst.
I press my lips together and squeeze my eyes shut, but my body shakes with the silent sobs pulsing from my chest. All I can feel are his muscles like stone crushing my shoulders and the tap of the cold gun barrel between my eyes. When I dare to open them, Colson is glaring down at me, his teeth clenched through parted lips and every muscle in his body trembling with rage.
“I know what you did,” he rasps, pressing the barrel harder into my forehead.
“No!” My jaw drops and I shake my head frantically, “What?”
“Say it!” Colson shouts so forcefully, I feel his spit hit my cheek.
“Colson,” I sob, tears pouring down the corners of my eyes and into my hair, “I don’t know—”
“Open your mouth,” he barks, sending a jolt through my chest.
I freeze, my mouth still half-open as he slides the gun down the bridge of my nose. I shut my mouth but he presses the barrel hard into my lips.
“Open your mouth,” he snarls, “before I knock your goddamn teeth into your throat.”
A pathetic sob escapes my throat as I do what he says. And when I open my mouth, he slides the barrel over my lips, catching my teeth. It’s disgusting and leaves an oily metallic taste on my tongue.
“Colson, please…” I plead with him, but it just comes out like wet gibberish.
Colson slides the barrel over my tongue and further to the back of my throat. It scrapes across my palate, making me wince in pain. I finally gag on it, digging my nails into his arm as my chest heaves beneath him. He pulls it back and pauses, then does it again. After a third time, I think I’m going to throw up.
He looks like he’s enjoying it. Each time I retch into his gun, his cheek muscles twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
“You want to tell me now?” he snarls, shifting his weight on my body.
And when he does, he loosens his arm ever so slightly. I feel the relief in my shoulder and, by some miracle reflex, I reel back and swing my fist as hard as I can. Somehow, I catch him solidly in the jaw, throwing his head to the side with a pop and knocking him off-balance.
Colson falls backward, the gun tumbles out of my mouth, and he throws his head to the side with a curse. I roll over, unleashing another torrent of screams as I scramble across the carpet. But Colson is between me and the bedroom door. He hasn’t moved, still on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.
Finally, he lifts his head, his mouth hanging open. Swallowing hard, he rises up onto his knees, the window panes casting black stripes across his face and torso. He raises an arm and touches his bare chest with his palm. I watch him, absolutely petrified. I want to run as fast as I can, but I’m frozen in place, shaking and crying. Colson slowly looks down at the gun in his other hand, then back at me.
Get out.
Finally, I feel a rush of adrenaline, jump up, and scurry over the bed. I keep my eyes glued to him as I move around the other side, shaking and gasping. I need to get out, escape before he decides to shoot me right then and there. I see a balled-up article of clothing on the floor and grab it. It doesn’t matter what it is.
Colson stands up and takes a few steps toward the bed, still holding the gun. I make myself take a few more steps, slowly creeping toward the end of the bed. He doesn’t move at first, he just stands there watching me. He doesn’t look angry anymore.
He finally speaks, his voice returning to its normal baritone, “Baby…”
As soon as I hear his voice, it’s like a whip crack and I leap toward the door, throwing it open and bursting into the hallway. I half run, half fall down the stairs and tear across the living room, down the hallway to the foyer, and out the front door. I grab my tote next to the door and flee the house, literally naked, leaving the door hanging open as I sprint across the grass to my car parked behind the red Bronco.
I throw my belongings across the center console, not caring where they land, as I tear through the front pocket of my bag to find my keys. Fumbling with my keys, I keep an eye on the front door to see if he’ll emerge and come after me.
I finally start the car, throw it in reverse, and whip out of the driveway. I stop at a redlight as I leave the neighborhood and take the opportunity to put on whatever clothing I grabbed off the bedroom floor. I hold it up through tears, trying to figure out how to put it on.
It’s Colson’s t-shirt.
I break down into even more of screaming mess as I pull it over my head. It still smells like him.
Later, I’ll be impressed that I drove home having a full-blown panic attack. My mind is racing, but no coherent thoughts materialize, as I’m still focused on surviving the night. After I park my car in front of the apartment, I grip the top of the steering wheel, every emotion bubbling over. I let out a primal scream and press my forehead against the wheel, sobbing uncontrollably.
After a few minutes, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself enough to make it inside. Glancing around nervously, I scurry out of the car and hurry down the sidewalk toward the stairwell. Except I don’t make it five steps before I double over, throwing up the entire contents of my stomach into the grass.
Even as I puke my guts out, I hope no one who works third shift walks by and sees a barefoot woman with crazy hair, dressed in nothing but a man’s t-shirt, hauling a tote bag and vomiting off the edge of the sidewalk in front of some unsuspecting person’s apartment. If they do, maybe they’ll decide they can’t deal with this kind of drama and just keep walking. It would benefit us both.
After a couple of dry heaves, I make a run for it and take the steps two at a time to my front door. I unlock it as quietly as possible and slowly go inside. Katie and Emma are asleep on either side of the sectional, so I take a deep breath and creep across the carpet in my bare feet as quickly as I can, just another shadow in the room.
I breathe again only when my bedroom door clicks shut and I twist the lock on the handle. I trudge into my bathroom and turn on the light, only to be met by a disheveled woman in the mirror wearing a man’s t-shirt and nothing else. My hair is a mess. Some curls stick out at maximum volume and others hang almost straight from laying on them. I turn away in despair, reaching into the shower to twist the lever. I sit down on the floor of the shower, letting the scalding water run all over me. My body aches, inside and out.
It hurts. It hurts so bad.
Afterward, I pull on a fresh pair of pajamas and bury myself in my sheets and comforter, wishing for a coma. I try to block out each buzz of my phone until I can’t take it anymore and I delete the entire barrage of texts from Colson without looking at a single one. Then I block his number.
More than anything, I want to sleep and wake up in a world where the last hour never happened.
What the hell just happened?
I cry in silence for the Colson I knew at the beginning of the night—the one I’m still enamored with, even now. And I cry in horror, never again wanting to see the Colson who wanted me dead hours later. I just hope I can fall into a deep sleep and not wake up again until the apartment is empty and I don’t have to answer any questions about the night before.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brett
One Year Ago
“Where’s this asshole now?” Bowen spits with disgust.
Probably a congressman or supreme court justice. Isn’t that where they always end up?
But probably not Colson. He would never. Maybe he ended up living in a creepy cabin out in the mountains like he wanted, except now he also has a cellar full of missing women.
“Did you ever speak to him again?”
“No…” It dawns on me that I haven’t uttered Colson’s name once during this conversation, and I’m not about to start now. I can’t bring myself to refer to him as anything else than, he—an innocuous pronoun. “He texted me right after it happened, but I blocked him and never read them. All I could see was that night, playing over and over again,” I sigh, “and after all that, I still had to see him in class the following week.”
