Fuck. I knew it, but seeing is truly believing. He’s a monster just like him.
Watching Simon kill Cherry was just like that day I stumbled across Matthew in the basement all those years ago, torturing that man…
The tires of the SUV squeal again as Simon is forced to come to a stop at a light.
I don’t think twice. I have to get away. I can’t be a part of this madness.
One hand grabbing the handle of the door, my other hand unclicks my seatbelt and I try to make a run for it.
Shoving my door open, I get one foot out the door when my hair is suddenly grabbed. I’m yanked viciously back.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Meredith?”
I scream and reach back, clawing at the hands gripping my hair.
“Let me go, Simon!” I screech.
“No,” he growls.
He growls. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Simon speak in anything but a cool, almost robotic voice before.
I guess I really do bring out the best of him.
Yanking harder on my hair, he uses it to reel me back in. I scream again as my scalp lights up with agony.
Leaning over me, he rips one hand from my hair to pull the door shut. Then he shoves that hand into my chest, pinning me against the seat, as he straightens.
“Now is not the time for this shit,” he states matter-of-factly as he looks me deep in the eyes. “I have to get you somewhere safe and take care of this mess. Do you understand, princess?”
When I don’t immediately answer him, he tugs on my hair again.
I whimper at the pain and his eyes light up. Flashing with something that looks a lot like pleasure.
Fuck. Is he getting off on this?
“Yes,” I somehow manage to croak out.
For a minute, we just stare at each other. Me, panting with pain and too aware of his strong hand pressed against my chest. Him, with his eyes boring into me, almost daring me to defy him.
I don’t know where this new, meaner Simon came from, but I know better than to push him. I’ve learned from experience that the only hope I have of getting away unscathed is by pretending to be compliant.
Finally, with a look of distrust followed by something that could easily be mistaken for disappointment, Simon slides his hand out of my hair and says, “Good.”
He glances down at his hand, at all the hair wrapped around his fingers, and frowns. I half expect him to make a mean crack, but he doesn’t. No, he just stares at his hand, at my hair, like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
A car honks behind us, quickly followed by another. With a sigh, he leans back into his seat, shakes the hair from his hand, and throws the SUV into drive.
“Put your seatbelt back on,” he says without looking over at me.
Anger flares inside me and I latch onto it. I stoke it. Needing it to get me through this.
I hate being told what to do, just fucking hate it…
But fuck, if I keep defying him, I’ll never get out of this.
Gritting my teeth, I reach back, ignoring the way my scalp throbs, and grab the seatbelt, yanking it across myself.
Once the seatbelt clicks into place, Simon’s shoulders slump just the tiniest of bits.
Good, he’s relaxing a little. Probably thinks he just bullied me into submission.
Joke’s on him.
He can yank me by my hair and push me around, but it just makes me even more determined to get away from him.
We drive in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of minutes before being forced to stop at a light again.
Simon looks over at me, his eyes daring me to try to run again.
I want to, but I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction.
When that flash of disappointment reappears in his eyes, I can’t stop the smug grin that spreads across my lips.
Oh yeah, I’m onto him now. He wants a fight. He’s practically begging for it.
And he’s not going to get it.
Oh no, I’ll be the perfect little prisoner. I’ll do everything he asks…
His gaze drops to my chest and hardens. “Remove your shirt.”
“What?” Seriously, what the fuck? He can’t be serious.
His voice is cold and detached again. “Did I stutter, Meredith?”
“No,” I draw out, fighting off the urge to recoil from him. I will not show him any more weakness, dammit.
“Then do it.”
“Why?” Why the fuck does he want me to remove my shirt? What possible reason could he have for it besides pissing me off?
“You’re covered in blood.”
“So are you!” I point out to him. Drops of blood are splattered along his white shirt, his pants, his tie. Not to mention all the blood on his arms and hands.
What a fucking hypocrite.
Simon glances down at himself as if he forgot and his lip curls in disgust. “Yes, yes, I am, but that is neither here or there.”