ASHLEY
“Take off your dress.”
“What—wait, what?”
Beckett says it again, slower this time. Crueler. “Take. It. Off.”
I blink at him, heartbeat thudding loud in my ears like I didn’t hear it right the first time.
He’s kidding. He’s f*****g kidding, right?
But he’s just standing there—backlit by the headlights and the cut of the moon, all broad shoulders and clenched fists and the kind of dangerous patience that makes me want to scream. He’s not moving, but I can feel him closing in anyway.
The headlights throw half his face into shadow, but I see his jaw ticking, his mouth twitching like he’s seconds from snapping. Like if I don’t move soon, he’ll move for me.
My pulse slams in my throat. My hands shake as I cross my arms over my chest, like that’ll stop him from seeing what’s alr
