Sophie Jordan - Tease

I didn’t have to be a genius to understand his meaning. All I could think in that split second before I moved, before adrenaline fired through my limbs, was that I was stuck in a familiar nightmare again.

I BROUGHT MY HEAD forward. Hard and fast. I’d seen it done in movies countless times. I only hoped it worked.

It worked. And it hurt. I staggered, stunned from the force of my head hitting his face. I was too short to reach his nose. My forehead smashed into his chin and mouth.

His hand dropped from my arm. I ran, his curses burning on the air. Where he stood, he blocked the door, and I was too worried about getting that close to him. If he grabbed me again, it was all over. He would overpower me. He was too big. Twice my weight. I couldn’t let him catch me. I had to avoid him. Hide. Wait until he moved from the door and then make my escape.

I knew the room well. Even in the dark. I ran on silent feet and ducked behind a large canvas. Heart hammering, I took a gulping breath, listening.

Justin’s laughter rang out. “Where’d you learn that move?” He bumped into the edge of a table, rattling the supplies sitting on it. “Well, I can’t wait to see what other moves you have.”

His voice was closer. He was walking down the center of the room. I crouched and started circling the room’s perimeter, seeing the front door in my mind.

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be on a beach in Martinique right now, married to Melanie.” I kept moving as he talked. “And that job I had lined up working on her father’s campaign? That’s gone, too. You owe me, Emerson.”

I debated reasoning with him. Faking an apology, but then I dismissed it. He wasn’t in a forgiving mood. He was drunk. And he had nothing to lose. He’d lost everything.

“Why don’t you just come out so we can get this over with? C’mon.”

I was almost to the door. A few more feet.

Suddenly my phone started ringing. The ring tone was loud and shrill in the vast space of the studio. I fumbled for it, desperate to reach it and make it stop.

His footsteps slapped on the concrete. My fumbling fingers dropped the phone and I bolted for the door, diving between two easels. Justin just tore through them, knocking them aside like they were toothpicks.

His hands grabbed me. Air rushed over me as he slammed me onto a table. I felt wetness at my back and knew I was on top of someone’s freshly painted project.

It was a mad scramble. Rough hands yanked at my clothes. I fought. Clawing and punching. His fingers curled around the waistband of my leggings. My arms flailed on the table, knocking into supplies, and my hands brushed something familiar. Not a week passed without one in my hand. I snatched it up without thinking, rotating it in my grip. Tip down, I jabbed the end of the paintbrush into his chest.

He screamed. I didn’t know how hurt he was—how much damage I’d done—but he howled and fell off me. Gasping, I dropped down from the table. I moved backward in the dark, barely able to support my weight on shaking legs.

Then light flooded my world. I threw a hand up over my eyes to shield me from the sudden glare.

I heard my name. Arms surrounded me and I screamed, attacking them.

“Em! Emerson! It’s me.”

I shook the hair from my face and peered up at Shaw as if I didn’t quite recognize him. “Shaw?” I started to ask him how he knew I was here, but stopped, remembering that I had texted him. With a choked cry, I flung myself against him and hugged him tightly.

He hugged me back, one hand at the back of my head, the other at the small of my back, warm and firm, fingers splayed widely. “Emerson!” He pulled back, his gaze scanning all of me, from head to toe, missing nothing. “Are you hurt?”

I winced as he brushed his fingers against a raw patch of skin on my cheek. “I’m fine.”

He gaze drifted over my shoulder, narrowing as he caught sight of my stepbrother. “Did he—”

“No.” I shook my head and the motion made me slightly sick.

Justin moaned behind us. Turning, I surveyed my handiwork. The paintbrush was embedded high in his chest, right above the V neck of his sweater, below his collarbone. No mortal wound, but it looked painful. “You stabbed me!”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Shaw snarled, pulling out his phone and dialing. I inched from his side, only distantly hearing him speak to a 911 operator as I studied my stepbrother with an odd sense of curiosity.

Standing over him, I murmured, “You can’t hurt me. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

And I realized I had been letting him do that. Him and Mom. All these years. I’d been letting them keep me from living life and finding happiness.

Justin panted, his face sweaty and creased with pain as he stared up at me. “God, it fucking hurts, Emerson. Call an ambulance. Please! I’m sorry! Please!”

Shaw moved back to my side, wrapping an arm around me. He spoke gently, as if I was something fragile that might shatter. “An ambulance is coming. The police, too. I’m sure they’re going to want to talk to you.” His gaze skimmed my face. “And probably take you to the hospital.”

I nodded.

“What about me?” Justin whined.

All softness fled from Shaw’s voice. “Yeah, you, too, asshole. After they arrest you, of course.”

Justin dropped his head back on the floor, whimpering now, his hand hovering over the paintbrush stuck in his chest. “No, please. I’m fucking dying here. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Shaw’s eyes were hard and uncaring. “It’s just a flesh wound, pussy.” He moved to crouch over my stepbrother. He tapped the paintbrush and Justin yelped. “What I should do is bury it in deeper.” Shaw glanced at me, his eyes softening as they lingered on me. “She’s a better person than I am. Because that’s what I would have done. If I’d caught you attacking her, I would have killed you.”

Justin’s eyes grew enormous and he shook his head wildly, whimpering all over again, but this time I doubted it was due to the pain. It was fear.

Shaw continued. “It’s no less than you deserve, and I promise, if you ever come at her again, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m sorry, man.” Justin’s gaze flicked over to me. “I’m sorry, Emerson. I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never see me again. I promise.”

Shaw stood again and reclaimed my hand, warm fingers lacing tightly with my fingers. “You all right?”

It was over. What began all those years ago. What turned me into a creature who went through every day in a state of quasi existence. I existed but didn’t live, hiding inside myself, looking out at the world but never stepping into it.

Shaw knew that. He saw it in me.

I squeezed his hand back. “I just want to go home.” I sagged against him, content to lean on him, to let him hold me. For however long he wanted. I was finally ready to step outside.

IT WAS AFTER TWO in the morning when I was released from the hospital.

I had to be examined. Photographs taken and my minimal injuries catalogued. The same police officer who stayed with me through the night and took my initial statement led us to his car in the hospital lot.

I slid into the backseat of the cruiser. Shaw followed, settling beside me. His strong arms wrapped around me and held me. I released a pent-up breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. We’d barely pulled out of the parking lot before my head dropped on Shaw’s shoulder.

Shaw had remained at the hospital with me, holding my hand like he would never let go, leaving only during the doctor’s exam when they forced him to step outside the room. He called Georgia and Pepper for me, backing me up when I insisted that I didn’t need them to come to the hospital. I spoke to each of them briefly, assuring them I was fine. Pepper’s voice had cracked when I talked to her and I knew she was on the verge of tears over what had happened. Fortunately she hadn’t been in front of me right then or we would have both ended up blubbering like babies.