Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 27- Callie

The noises escaping me don't even sound human, a panicky high-pitched whine. My breath is trapped in my chest, struggling to escape, and tears slide down my face in streams, streaking through the dirt that found its way there as I pressed against the tunnels. It doesn't matter when I'm trapped inside a living memory.

Pretty Boy's glee recedes and concern peaks through. Those hands that gripped like a vise slowly wrap around me like a weighted blanket, soft and heavy as they bring me back down from my panic attack.

"I've got you Bambi. Come back to me," he demands. His left hand wraps firmly around my neck, not quite cutting off my air, but the threat is there. His hand grabs my attention and his words my focus. "I'm the monster down here and the only screams of yours I'm after are of a purely carnal variety."

A slow blink is all I can muster at that. Those flames lick at my cheeks, working their way lower with every slow flick of his eyes over my frame. Burning is the least of my problems. The way my thighs are clenching, I'm convinced I would be thankful for the pain.

"That's it," he grins.

Up close like this, it's not hard to see how he came across his name so easily. He is too pretty for words and mine have left the building, flown away on a one-way ticket to the Maldives. Galaxies lie hidden in those midnight pools. Infinite little pockets of light that hold countless possibilities all centered and staring at little old me.

I've never been the sole focus of anyone's attention like this. It's unnerving and I crave it in the worst of ways. It would be so easy to just accept this for what it is. Just a way to scratch that itch that has been festering underneath my skin since the moment Cupid wrapped his hands around me at the bank and God gazed into my eyes as if he could uncover all of my secrets.

I could give in.

Pretty Boy just had to wake up the fight in me. That long dormant part of myself that I was half sure was dead. He must register the change in me somehow as his grin stretches across his face like some twisted Cheshire Cat.

My eyes dart around, searching for anything that could help me in this moment. His hand is still wrapped around my throat and I'm waiting for the moment that he squeezes. Those strong, sure fingers could easily steal my breath.

"I can see the question in your eyes Bambi."

I may have been told I have absolutely no poker face whatsoever, but there's no way I'm that easy to read.

"I could squeeze," he states as though we're just discussing the weather, oblivious to my internal panic. Though he's not an abnormally tall man, somewhere between 5'10" or 5'11"; he's taller than me, but he bends to speak directly in my ear so I don't miss a single word of his threat. "In approximately thirty seconds, you would be rendered unconscious. You would wake just fine, if not a tad bit disoriented. But where's the fun in that?"

He's nuts. Here I thought I could fight him or reason with him, but there's nothing to reason with. You don't try to reason with the panther that stalks you in the night. You defeat it. However you can.

I don't think before I smash my head back into his face at the same time as I slam my heel into his booted foot. A sickening crunch has me cringing. Thank you, Miss Congeniality, for the self-defense lessons. His arm loosens from my chest but that hand on my neck wrenches me around to face him and his now blood coated face. It doesn't seem right for the nose to hold that much blood, but it does. His hand has moved up from my neck to tangle firmly in my hair. The sharp pull of it against my scalp has me up on my toes as if it'll ease the sting, but nothing does. I relax into it, close my eyes and accept the pain. I know there's more to come.

It never comes.

Pretty Boy is smiling at me with blood-soaked teeth, a busted nose, and laughing. Big booming laughter that has tears coming from his eyes.

"Never a dull moment Bambi mine. My face though? You wound me," he mocks. "Although I'll forgive you for not going for something more lethal. I did limit your options. Groin and kidneys are always good choices," he lectures.

New season of Black Mirror? Because in no way can this be real life. Giving me pointers on how to attack him, what, next time? I'm baffled enough that the fight has all but left me.

Pretty Boy takes in my confusion with some of his own before moment of clarity. It's a bit cute if I'm honest with myself. Yup, definitely need a grippy sock vacation after all this.

"How rude of me. I'm skipping ahead of myself. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Jaxson. Can't very well have you calling out Pretty Boy. It's a mouthful and not the kind I want to see from you." His conversational tone is almost enough to have me forget his words.

Pretty Boy, no Jaxson, just told me his name. None of them have done that, though Cupid got close by allowing me to call him D when we're alone.

"You're never going to let me go," I whisper. I can't stop them from escaping my head and spilling out.

"Of course not Pet. You're mine. You just proved it with that headbutt. How's your head? Tender?" Jaxson's fingers untangle from my hair as he probes my scalp with his smooth, cool fingers massaging away the pain both he and I caused. He searches around with his eyes as if something will materialize out of thin air. "I'm afraid we're out of ice at the moment."