The black metal gates open and Creighton drives inside, passing a well-manicured lawn until we reach the circular driveway.
The building is nothing short of a regal castle, definitely less gothic than the Heathens’, and reeks of the powerful old money the entire REU is made of.
“Get out.” Creighton’s voice is deadpan, almost lifeless, and that causes my skin to crawl.
I’m probably sober if I can be assaulted by feelings this way.
As soon as he steps out of his car, I unbuckle my seatbelt and stumble outside. I only had like two drinks and I’m obviously a lightweight, because that was enough to get me tipsy.
But I’m not anymore and something else has been keeping me on edge.
Or, more specifically, someone.
“Follow me.” Creighton starts in the direction of the huge front door.
“Can you stop dishing out orders?”
“Five, and no.”
I clamp my lips shut and fall in step beside him, arms crossed, body rigid, and with frustration bubbling in my veins instead of blood.
Rather than focusing on the asshole, I choose to study my surroundings. The interior is as elegant as the exterior, considering the marble flooring, baroque wallpaper, gold-trimmed railings, and classical furniture.
They could definitely invite the queen for tea if they felt like it.
Creighton leads me up the stairs, where we pass a few closed doors before he pushes one open and motions me inside.
I step in carefully, expecting to find some torture devices that suit his character.
My feet come to a stop right past the entryway. It’s just a bedroom.
All gray like England’s sky and could use a splash of color, but it’s still a normal guy’s bedroom.
A breath whooshes out of my lungs, but it catches when the distinctive click of a lock echoes in the air.
I spin around, but I’m not even fully facing him when his fingers wrap around my nape and he flings me against the wall.
My front slams on the hard surface and his collides with my back. Tall, muscular, imposing.
Threatening.
His hot breaths meet my ear and he whispers in dark words, “Mind telling me what you were thinking?”
I attempt to look behind me, meet his eyes, but his merciless grip forbids any movement.
“About?” I try to sound calm, even as my insides quiver and explode in a thousand colors all at the same time.
“Don’t fuck with me, Annika. Did you go to that club with Remi and Bran to prove a point? Maybe to pick up your fake boyfriend plan where you left off?”
“It’s not like that…”
“Then what is it like? What made you go out with them without asking me to come along?”
“You don’t even like clubs.”
“And I don’t like dates or dancing, or the fucking cinema, but I’ve obviously been doing all of those. So why don’t you tell me the reason behind tonight’s little rebellion? Were you trying to be a brat?”
My lips press in a line and I stare at the wall, summoning patience that’s nowhere to be found.