Page 45 of Mine To Hunt

My voice trembles despite my effort to steady it. “I just need my papers. Please. I’ll leave right after.”

“Leave?” He scoffs. His posture straightens, anger flashing across his face. “You think you can just walk out after everything?”

He takes a slow step toward me. “You’re nothing without me, Iris.” The words come out cold. “I gave you a roof.” Another step. “Paid the bills while you played student. And this is how you repay me?”

His voice rises. “Running around telling people I abused you?” He laughs bitterly. “You’re the crazy one.”

His finger points at my chest. “Always overreacting. Making shit up for attention.”

My heart pounds harder as I edge toward the staircase. If I can just grab the folder and get out.

“I’m not making anything up.” I say quietly. My voice shakes, but I keep moving. “I just want my things.”

The stairs creak beneath my feet as I hurry up to the second floor, toward the small desk where I kept my work.

Ryan’s footsteps follow behind me. Heavy. Too close. I reach the desk and start opening drawers quickly, my hands trembling as I search through papers.

“Where the hell is it…”

Then suddenly… His hands clamp around my arms. Hard. I gasp as he yanks me backward, spinning me around to face him.

“You think you can ignore me?” He shouts. His face is inches from mine now, his breath hot and sour. “Fucking bitch.”

He shakes me violently. “Always acting so nice. Like your stupid writing makes you better than everyone.”

Pain shoots through my arms where his fingers dig into my skin.

“You’re worthless, Iris.” He spits. “A slut who can’t keep her legs closed.”

“Let go, Ryan!” I cry. My voice cracks as I try to pull away. “You’re hurting me!”

He laughs again. Then shoves me backward. “Hurting you?” His eyes burn with rage. “You deserve it, whore. After all the shit you pulled.”

His mouth twists. “Hell, that video’s probably your fault too. Teasing some creep for attention.”

His hand swings suddenly. It slams into my side. The impact knocks the breath out of me.

I gasp, doubling over. “Stop!” I choke. “Please!”

“You stop.” He snarls. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back painfully. “Always nagging. Always complaining.”

His voice drops into something uglier. “No wonder your parents killed themselves. Couldn’t stand you either.”

The words cut deep, tears blurring my vision, but he doesn't stop, slapping me across the face, the sting exploding as I stumble and fall against the table near the window. My cheek burns, and through the haze, I glance out.

There's a guy in a hoodie with a white mask standing under the street lamp, looking straight up at me on the second floor. Terror spikes higher because who is he? Watching us?

Ryan yanks my hair again, pulling me up roughly. "Look at me when I'm talking, bitch!"

He slaps me harder, and I fall back on the table, but when I glance out, the hooded guy is gone. Like he vanished in the blink of an eye.

I freeze the instant the first hammer-blow crashes against the front door. The sound is so violent it reverberates through myentire body, making my heart slam against my ribs with a force that steals my breath.

Terror floods me in an instant, cold and unrelenting, turning my blood to ice as I realize this isn't some random noise. It's deliberate.

Ryan's grip on my hair loosens immediately, his fingers slipping away as if he's been shocked. His face drains of color, the rage that was burning in his eyes moments ago replaced by a raw, animalistic panic that makes him look smaller, weaker.

"What the fuck is that?" He hisses, his voice cracking with fear he can't hide.