No, You Hang Up

by A.J. Merlin

“You little fucked up thing. Drugged out of your mind and you still want this. You want me to be your predator. To ruin you, to tear out your throat with my teeth.”

“Fuck you,” I murmur, unable to think of anything else. “Sure, we can do that next time. Though you did wake up a bit last night,” he’s quick to inform me.

“Nah. You don’t hate me. You’re afraid of me,

I’m jumpy all night, always expecting him to just pop up from somewhere he shouldn’t or to rise out of the floor like some kind of demon.

I could scream. I should scream, even. If I scream, then someone out here is going to hear me, and even if he tries to make good on the threat of cutting out my tongue, at least⁠—

“No one is going to call the cops for you if you scream. Do you know why?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Because you’ll only get one chance. You’ll scream once, if that,

“You’re being a brat,” he informs me almost sweetly. “It’s cuter in the dark.” “Yeah, so’s your face.”

I don’t need a serial killer after all, I remind myself. I have my friends, whatever is left of my sanity, and queso.

Your brattiness is going to have delayed consequences. Just because I won’t flip you over my lap here while I’m driving doesn’t mean I don’t plan to when we get back to your house.”

“You’re so cleaning it. On your knees. In a maid outfit.” “Oh, only if you hold my leash, pretty girl.”