Page 52 of Dreadful

“Don’t I?” I stretch the silence out, watching his jaw tighten. “I seem to remember you enjoyed yourself several times with me.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his lips parting to expel a deep breath. “Deal the fucking cards, Bellamy.”

A slow grin steals over me. “You’re blushing.”

He’s not. But I’m feeling petty. It’s been well over a week since we’ve been living under the same roof, and still, he barely acknowledges my existence here.

“I am not fucking blushing.”

I reach for the deck between us, thumbs flicking over the smooth edges. Bishop’s eyes track my hands—predatory, calculating. “Must be all the losing.”

His eyes narrow. “You run your mouth too much.”

Heat pools in my core. My thighs press together under the table. “You didn’t seem to mind my mouth.”

He watches my hands for three beats before the tension in his shoulders snaps. “I changed my mind. I’ll shuffle.” He reaches over, fingers brushing mine as he wrests the cards away. My skin sparks at the contact.

I fold my arms and lean back, breathing in the faint fragrance of his cologne—smoky wood and something leathery. Bishop’s forearms tighten as he shuffles, veins rolling beneath pale skin. My pulse quickens.

Why are forearms so damn hot?

He deals, each card landing with a soft slap. His voice drops to a hush that vibrates through me. “Try not to cry when I take the rest of your clothes.”

My breath hitches. I let a slow, wicked smirk spread across my face. “If you wanted them off again, all you had to do was ask. If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll even let you touch me.”

His hands freeze, mid-deal. He lifts his gaze—dark, intense, a low fire burning behind his eyes. My thighs clench under the table, blood pounding.

Victory tastes like heat and electricity on my tongue. And then the lights flicker once before the room is plunged into darkness.

NINETEEN

BELLAMY

The darkness is absolute. A total, suffocating absence that leaves my ears ringing in the vacuum of silence.

“Scheduled brownout?” I lower my cards onto the table.

My whole body is a straining ear, listening past the hum in my head. We’ve had them before in Hollow Beach’s worst heatwaves, but we should’ve received notice.

Bishop’s chair scrapes back, harsh against the quiet “No, I don’t think so.”

My eyes are starting to adjust, painting his shape in shades of deeper black against the nothing. I push to my feet, the floor cool under my bare soles. “Random outage?”

“We have a generator.” He’s already moving, a predator stalking the edge of the room. “Stay here.”

Panic lances through me, sharp and familiar. I lunge, my fingers closing around the solid warmth of his bicep. “Don’t—don’t just leave me.”

He freezes. Looks back at me over his shoulder, down the line of his nose. “Keep up.”

He moves toward the far wall and I follow, my bare feet finding the cool floor in careful steps. “Gage was just going to the kitchen.” I glance toward the hallway, the hair lifting along the back of my neck. The solar lights from the pool push a thin wash of blue through the glass, just enough to make the shadows look deeper by contrast. I can’t see past the doorframe. “Why can’t I hear him?”

“Shh.” He goes still, chin tilting slightly.

I clamp my mouth shut and hold my breath until my chest aches with it.

The house gives me nothing back. No footsteps. No rustling. No low hum of the refrigerator I hadn’t noticed until it was gone. Just my own pulse, embarrassingly loud, thudding away at the base of my throat like it’s trying to get out.

The quiet doesn’t feel like quiet. It feels like something holding its breath the same way I am.