Page 23 of Ruthless Dream

I thought Jack was a creep. Fuck, it’s so much worse.

My chest rises and falls. Is Wallen trying to hurt my dad? My family?

“What the fuck were you going to do?” I ask Jack, my chest tight.

He bares his teeth, not even pretending to be anything other than a monster. “You’re nothing but a spoiled pussy.”

The man pushes him to the ground with a thud. “You’re right, she is,” he says, “but unfortunately for you, her pussy wasn’t made for you.”

Jack gnashes his teeth. Blood runs down his temple, his eyes burning with tempestuous disaster. It’s wild compared to the steady darkness in the stranger’s dark eyes.

“Does the little Irish think he can save the day?” Jack taunts him.

“That’s enough out of you,” the man says, calmly, his gaze shifting to me.

My spine molds into the brick wall, the heels of my feet scraping the rough material.

“You’ve got an option,” he tells me. “You can either ask for my help or you can deal with him yourself.”

My brows quirk together. Does he think I can’t handle Jack? I can fucking. . .

The man cocks his head to the side, and I swear we’re both thinking the same scenarios through.

The stranger leaves, and it’s just me and Jack. There’s no time to call for backup, and there’s no way Jack, who’s acting like a caged animal trying to get out, is going to run away. He knows there’s no good end to this. Which means he knocks me down and goes after my pussy again.

My breathing shallows, pins and needles stinging my skin.

“You didn’t even notice,” the stranger says, “when he got rid of your phone.”

My fingers curl into fists. My purse is on the ground. I can’t remember the last time I held my phone.

“Or when he handed you drinks you shouldn’t have been taking.” His voice scrapes against my soul, damnation and disappointment clear.

Is that why I feel like I’m floating? I didn’t eat dinner but I definitely feel lighter than normal. I didn’t drink nearly as much as I normally do.

Before I can sort my feelings and memories any further, Jack lunges. The glint of steel in his hand dislodges a shout.

Akatovs do not cower. Our legs don’t shake. We are in control at all times.

“Please!” I yelp, eyes closing. There’s noise and then silence. When I peel my eyes open, my vision is blurry. My lashes are wet, and my stomach drops.

Jack is on the ground, more blood running from his temple.

“What, is he?”

The man gazes down at Jack’s slumped body. Then back at me. His face is blank except for those blazing brown eyes.

“W-who⁠—”

“Ciaran O’Connell,” he introduces, his accent thicker. “And since I’ve helped you out, it seems you owe me a favor.”

My stomach twists. I back into the brick wall again, my hands still in fists by my side.

Life is just a sick game, Adeline. I, out of everyone, should know all about shadows in the night. Yet, here I am. Trapped.

“A-are you going to hurt me?” My legs haven’t stopped shaking.

Ciaran steps over Jack’s body. My head jerks back when he lifts a hand. He lets it hover, almost like he’s testing me to see if I’ll move again, before he slowly pushes my hair behind my ear.