Limerence: A Dark Romance (Fated Fixation Book 1)

He’s breathing. I can tell he’s breathing.

Crouched beside him, I’ve been watching the steady rise and fall of Ian’s torso for an eternity, and each time his chest cavity manages to successfully fill with air, I remind myself that I’m not a murderer.

Yet.

I check my phone, anxiety thrumming through my veins.

It’s been twenty minutes, but it might as well be twenty hours. I’m not entirely sure there’s a world left outside this garage – at least, not one I’m familiar with. For all I know, the sun’s burned the rest of the planet alive while I’ve been trapped in here with Ian.

If it weren’t for the blood trickling down his forehead, staining Rick’s subfloor crimson, I’d think he was asleep. There’s no anger to mar the lines of his forehead, no fury pouring out of his mouth, no knife in his hands.

I kicked the blade across the garage the moment he went down.

I check my phone again.

Twenty-one minutes.

It can’t be a good sign that he’s been unconscious this long, can it?

I stare at his rising chest, wondering if it’s just my paranoia running wild, or if his breath’s starting to sound shallow.

Maybe I should just call the cops.

I can make something up about finding him here, already unconscious.

I bite my lip.

Twenty-two minutes.

I should just call for an ambulance, consequences be damned.

And just as my finger hovers over the emergency call button on my phone, there’s a sharp knock on the garage door.

Heart pounding, I’m on my feet in a flash, my body braced for impact.

Oh God.

This was a mistake.

I should’ve just taken my chances with the cops.

I glance down at Ian’s fallen form.

Too late now.

“Come in,” I call hoarsely.

The door swings open the rest of the way.

“You really know how to build suspense, sweetheart. Telling me to come alone, bring medical supplies, knock three times, I’m really quite…” Adrian’s broad silhouette fills the doorway. He steps through, first-aid kit in hand, and halts, eyes widening.

“…curious,” he finishes.

I say nothing as he drinks in the scene with the same analytical eye that’s edited my history papers and pored over my math homework. His gaze flickers to Ian’s unconscious body, to the bloody wrench lying beside him, and then back to me.

There’s a distinct flash of surprise in his eyes – just a flash – before he schools his expression. “Are you hurt?” He demands.

Before the no leaves my mouth, he’s already crossing the distance between us and trying to examine me himself. “Are you bleeding anywhere?” His hands run down my hair, the back of my neck, and even my t-shirt, no doubt looking for a sticky coating of blood. “Any pain, sweetheart?”

“The medical supplies aren’t for me.” I gesture toward Ian. “It’s him you should be checking out.”

His answer comes with no hesitation: “Not until I’m positive you’re actually fine. You might not even know it. Your body could be in shock, you could be –”

“Adrian!” It’s both a command and a plea. “Please. I don’t have a scratch on me. Just check on him. Please.”

His face visibly softens, and he obeys, turning his attention to Ian.

He kneels down, takes a pair of disposable gloves from the medical kit, and examines the wound. “How long has been unconscious?”

I hover just out of reach, worried that my nervous energy might infect Adrian if I get too close. “Since I called you.”

Surprisingly, that answer doesn’t seem to incite the same panic in him that it did in me. In fact, Adrian’s as calm as I’ve ever seen him as he inquires about Ian’s condition.

“And he’s been bleeding this whole time?”

“I think so,” I reply. “I wanted to stop the bleeding, but I couldn’t find anything clean enough to use in here.”

And I was too afraid he might suddenly regain consciousness and disappear if I went searching in the trailer.

“It’s probably better that you didn’t,” he murmurs. He rips a sterile gauze pad from the kit and carefully places it over Ian’s wound.

Blood soaks through the white cloth immediately.

“I didn’t realize I’d hit him so hard.” I shift from one foot to the next. “It was just one swing and he went…”

Down.

Like a tree, cut from its roots.

“He certainly has, at the very least, a moderate brain injury,” Adrian says.

An inkling of hope flares to life in my chest. “Like a concussion?”

“Likely worse,” he explains. “From what I’ve read, most concussions don’t cause a loss of consciousness for this long. He could have a skull fracture. Maybe a contusion, but he’s stable. His airway’s not impacted. His pulse is strong. I can’t say for certain, but he should be fine. At least for now.”

I sigh, and my chest feels ten times lighter than it was moments ago.

I didn’t kill him.

I’m not a murderer.

Seemingly satisfied that Ian’s not going to die this very second, Adrian then turns the full weight of his gaze onto me. “You’re going to tell me everything, sweetheart.”

I take another deep breath.

And then I start explaining.

He listens with rapt attention as I explain the connection between me and Ian, the interactions we had last week, and how he must’ve commandeered Rick’s phone to lure me here after figuring out I cheated.

He’s stony-faced the entire time until –

“He pulled a knife on you?” The lethal edge to his voice sends a chill racing down my spine, and it suddenly strikes me how very close to Ian he still is. If he wanted to, he’d only need to reach over and –

“I don’t think he intended to use it,” I argue. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think he knew. I think he was just trying to scare me. Keep me from running as soon as I realized why I was here.”

His jaw ticks.

“And it doesn’t matter anyway, does it?” I continue. “I’m the one who hurt him. I did this to him.”

Guilt clogs my throat.

I did all of this to him.

“You had no choice,” Adrian says. “He lured you into –” He glances at the rusty tools lining the walls. “– what clearly could be mistaken as some sort of murder shack. Anything that took place afterward is self-defense.”

“But it wasn’t self-defense. At least, not the wrench. The wrench was intentional.” The worlds tumble out of me in a condensed nervous ramble. “He had the video, and he could’ve done anything with it and –”

“What video?” Adrian interjects, eyes narrowed, and I realize that I’d forgotten this part too. This morning’s near-death experience might as well have left my brain a pile of scrambled eggs.

My eyes cut to Ian’s unlocked phone lying a few feet away.

Adrian grabs the device, stands to his full height, and I hear my shaky voice filter through the phone’s speaker again. I have no desire to watch the video after participating in it only minutes ago, but I do watch him.

Even once the video version of me’s done confessing to my greatest sin, he continues to stare at the screen, an unreadable mask of calm. “So, this was going to be his leverage.”

I nod.

He presses a couple of buttons and then discards the phone at Ian’s feet. “And now his leverage is gone.”

I’m not prepared for the relief that barrels through me like a tidal wave. I stumble – and seemingly right into Adrian’s arms, the weight of this morning crashing over me as I rest my head on his chest.

“Thank you,” I mutter, though I’m not sure which part I intend to thank him for.

Coming to my rescue, no questions asked?

Ensuring that Ian probably lives to see a hospital room?

Deleting the video without a word?

His hands rub soothing circles on the small of my back. “You have nothing to thank me for,” he murmurs.

His touch’s a reassuring balm on this morning’s deepest wounds. “Well, I’m sorry then,” I say. “For dragging you into my mess.”

Calling Adrian had been more of an instinct than a decision. Even terrified, I knew I could count on him.

Probably because it’s not his first go-round with murder.

“Well, it’s our mess,” he stares down at me, dark eyes gleaming. “And we still need to deal with it.”

I sigh.

Right.

Bleeding head wound.

Moderate brain injury.

“We could call an ambulance. Say we found him here,” I say. “His proof’s gone, and I doubt he’s going to try this again.”

Adrian’s body stiffens against mine, and his expression turns incredulous. “You intend to leave him alive?”

And now I’m the one stiffening in his embrace. “You don’t?” I gape.

His eyes narrow and his lips purse with displeasure. “Of course not. You leave him alive, and you’re leaving a loose end.”

Loose end.

That term elicits a certain type of déjà vu – that’s what he’d called Mickey, too.

I take a step back, unable to think clearly in the fog of Adrian’s calming scent. “But he’s…” I glance toward Ian’s body. “This isn’t his fault.”

“He cornered you in a garage and held you at knife-point,” Adrian says flatly. “I’d kill him for that alone.”

My throat tightens. “But I did this to him. I mean, you watched the video. I’m not the victim here. Whatever happened this morning…I drove him to it.” I close my eyes, picturing the fury that danced in Ian’s eyes, his manic laugh. “I stole his future. He was supposed to go to Lionswood.”

“And now he’s a weed,” Adrian adds. “You might’ve plucked his spirit this morning, but it’ll grow back eventually. He’ll get angry again. He’ll want vengeance. Maybe a month from now. Maybe a year. Maybe ten years. Maybe –”

“No!” I’m shaking again. “No. I can’t do this. I can’t do that.” Nausea curdles my stomach. “I’m already a cheater. I’ve already ruined his life. I can’t –” I choke on the thought. “Take it too.”

“Sweetheart.” He approaches, his voice as soft as butter, like I’m a cornered animal gearing up to bolt from him. “He’s already gravely injured.”

I blink at him. “You called it a moderate injury.”

“That’ll most certainly turn grave without proper treatment.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not going to –”

“You don’t have to do,” he says quietly, and it takes me a moment to comprehend what he’s saying. What he’s offering.

“No,” I breathe. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I could never ask you to do that.”

His mouth curves into a sardonic smile. “You’ve got a lot of moral hang-ups for someone that could’ve called the cops, but instead, called me.”

I open my mouth to argue, but a pained groan cuts through the air, and we both swivel to the source.

A few more soft groans escape Ian’s mouth as he regains consciousness.

My breath hitches. “Ian –”

“How’re you feeling?” Adrian reaches Ian before I do, hovering over him at his full height. “Do you remember what happened?”

Oh God.

Ian blinks groggily, like the world’s coming into focus for the first time. “Uh…” His gaze lands on Adrian. “Who’re you?”

“You shouldn’t try to get up,” Adrian tells him. “You have a head wound.”

Ian blinks again. “I have a…” And then his gaze lands on me, and I see it – the exact moment his confusion clears, and he remembers, at the very least, why he’s so angry with me.

Adrian sees it too.

“He remembers enough,” he retorts. “Now, shall I tie up this loose end for you?” He glowers at Ian with such frigid intensity that even I shiver. “I think I’d enjoy it.”

“What…” Ian’s too drowsy to properly understand what Adrian’s saying, but I do.

I grab Adrian’s arm as if I might physically stop him. “No.”

To his credit, he doesn’t shake me off – but he does shoot me a mildly disappointed glance. “You know it as well as I do: weeds need to be pulled out by the roots.”

“I’ve already taken enough from him,” I murmur for Adrian’s ears only. “Please don’t make me live with taking anything else.” Still, I can’t stop him from killing Ian. If push comes to shove, I’m not going to pull any heroics.

I’m going to stand by and let it happen like the coward I am.

But please don’t make me any more of a coward than I already am.

There’s the slight furrowing of his brow, a flicker of something unknown, and then –

Resolution.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he concedes. “We’ll do it your way.”

There’s no time for the relief to settle before he’s turned his attention to Ian, every ounce of softness gone. “Here’s what going to happen, Ian Creasey.”

Still disoriented, Ian stares up at him. “I don’t even know who you –” An Italian loafer to the throat severs the rest of his sentence.

My jaw joins my stomach on the floor. “Adrian –”

“You’ll want to listen closely, Ian. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

I’ve heard a hundred variations of Adrian’s voice, but I have never heard the torrent of deadly calm that’s coming out of his mouth now.

It’s like the calm before the hurricane. The uneasy silence in the forest when the birds flee, and the bugs stop buzzing, and your body recognizes it’s in the presence of an apex predator long before you see it.

That’s what this moment is.

Just not for me.

Ian’s eyes widen till they’re practically bulging out of his head. He grapples with the weight of Adrian’s shoe on his neck, but to no avail.

“Do try to be still,” Adrian chides him mockingly. “You could have a skull fracture. A bruised brain. The more you flop around, the more you’ll exacerbate the injury.”

Ian stills beneath his shoe.

Adrian lets up, but his foot remains in place. One well-aimed stomp away from crushing Ian’s windpipe.

“What are you…” Ian gasps.

“I’m going to offer you a deal,” Adrian tells him. “It’s far more than I think you deserve, but it’s not for you.”

A deal?

“Four years ago, you were cheated out of an education at Lionswood,” he explains, and surprise flares over Ian’s features. “You missed out on school uniforms, Connecticut winters, and rich girls that’d tote you around like a new handbag for a week. So, now you’re slighted. You’re angry. You’re vengeful.”

Ian’s eyes slide toward me, the subject of his disdain, but only for a moment because then he’s gasping for air again.

“Keep your filthy eyes off her,” Adrian snaps. “You don’t get look at her.”

Ian obeys, immediately shifting toward Adrian, and the weight comes off.

I wait to be appalled by Adrian’s vicious display – disgusted even – but that is not what sparks in my lower belly.

No, no, no.

That did not turn me on.

“As I was saying,” Adrian continues, oblivious to my plight. “You want justice. I assume that’s what the video was meant to be. You were going to send it out, ensure Poppy never gets to graduate, and soak in your lingering resentment for years to come.”

Ian appears like he’s attempting to narrow his eyes, but in his current predicament, it comes out looking like a twitch instead.

“Fortunately for you, I’m going to offer you something better than justice,” Adrian says. “Compensation.”

Shock colors my expression.

Compensation?

“I can’t give you back the educational opportunities you might’ve had at Lionswood,” he explains. “But I can give you the funds you would’ve had access to. Four years of tuition, which would be…”

$846,000.

I’m almost positive my heart stops beating.

“…$846,000. More than enough for you to fund whatever secondary education you’d like or start over in a new city. I can write you a check here and now.”

Ian’s eyes widen.

“There are stipulations, of course,” Adrian adds. “Ten minutes from now, you’re going to call an ambulance – you certainly need one by now – and tell them you slipped and fell working in the garage this morning. You’re going to erase Poppy’s name – and whatever misdeeds you may suspect her of – from your memory. You’re not going to go to the press. You’re not going to email the Dean. You’re not going to tell anyone about anything. You’re going quietly go about your life and spend my money and be thankful that, while you may blame her for ruining your life, she’s the very reason you’ll get to keep living it after today.”

Ian opens his mouth, but the struggle to form words is obvious. “How can I…”

“How can you trust I’m not lying about the money?” Adrian finishes for him. “Well, when I hand you a check, you’re welcome to Google the last name attached. I’m sure that’ll clear up any confusion.” He pauses. “And one more thing. In a year from now, in five years from now, maybe even ten, you may want more. More money. More revenge. When that happens, and I’m certain it will…” Ian coughs and wheezes against the weight of his shoe as Adrian’s voice drops. “I can promise you that is a very, very bad idea.”

Goosebumps sprout across my skin.

“Do we have a deal?” Adrian asks.

I have as much trepidation on my face as Ian does – but he nods.

Adrian’s answering smile is full of teeth.