Ember by Kristen Callihan Page B

! R i gh t ? L ik e t h i s, on l y i n t he da r k. ” He s t epped f o r wa r d, t he li gh t of t he r eca ll ed memo r y i n h i s eyes. “ Some pun i she r s t epped ou t an ’ r an us o ff . ” H i s
     
    eyes na rr owed. “ No t a r ound now t hough, i s he? ”
    The a ir abou t t hem t h i ckened w it h i n t en t . M ir anda shou l d f ea r , and ye t t he r e was no t h i ng l e ft i ns i de he r now bu t r age and fr us tr a ti on.
    “ N o , ” sh e said. “ I n e v e r s aw hi m a g a in . ” O n l y th e n did sh e f ee l th e pinch of r e gr e t , a nd longing . For on e w ild m o me nt , sh e consid e r e d pl a ying th e victi m in th e hop e s th a t h e r d a rk str a ng e r wou l d appear a g a in , lik e so me m ythic a l gu a rdi a n a ng e l .
    T h e ma n b e for e h e r cr a ck e d his r a th e r l a rg e knuckl e s . “ We ll th e n , wh a t s a ys you a nd me get ours e lv e s r ea cqu a int e d . ”
    A l a ugh e sc a p e d h e r . I t wa s th e wrong thing to do, for it l e t loos e oth e r em otions .
    G u i l t , r eg r e t . D o no t d o t h i s . R u n a w a y . W a r n h i m . S e l f - disgust sour e d h e r m outh . S h e sw a llow e d it do w n in th e f a c e of his obvious pl ea sur e at th e thought of hurt i ng h e r .
    “ Y ou a r e a f i n e p i e c e , ” s h e s a i d t o h i m . “ Y ou t h i n k i t s o easy? T o t ake wha t eve r you wan t and damn t he consequences? ”
    H is s m il e curl e d . I t wa s an ugly thing , th a t s m il e. He wa s a l m ost w ithin touching dist a nc e. “ ‘ T is th e wa y of th e world , kitt e n . ” Lik e a sn a k e, h e uncoil e d , gr a bbing h e r by th e e lbo w a nd y a nking h e r clos e. T h e thick t a ng of unw a sh e d ma l e a nd str ee t living fill e d h e r nostrils . “ C o me now , ” h e m ur m ur e d , “b e a good pussy , e h? ”
    He r sto ma ch roll e d but a sudd e n surg e of d e fi a nc e hit h e r . S h e wa s th e m onst e r h e r e, not h e r st a lk e r . Hea t , n ee d , a nd po we r surg e d w ithin h e r . T h e fir e w a nt e d out . “ I ’ll giv e you on e w a rning . I ’ m not lik e oth e r girls . I w ill hurt you . B a dly . ”
    He chuck l ed. “ P r om i se? ”
    B e for e sh e could think , h e sl amme d h e r a g a inst th e w a ll ,
     
    his for ea r m pr e ssing into h e r thro a t , cutting off h e r a ir . S hock a nd p a in r e nd e r e d h e r i mm obil e. He r m outh w ork e d open a nd shut , try i ng to scr eam, s ea rching for br ea th . He r g aze c a ught th e t a tt e r e d r em n a nts of a post e r a dv e rtis eme nt for b a th s a lts as h e w e nt for h e r skirts , j e rking th em up w ith eager fing e rs . S h ame pull e d at h e r insid e s . S h e ought to h a v e run , this wa s h e r f a u l t .
    H i s damp b r ea t h pan t ed ove r he r neck. Ano t he r ha r d t ug at he r pe tti coa t b r ough t he r h i ps aga i ns t h i s, and h i s i n t en ti ons. A ll at once, a sense of he r se lf fl ooded back t o t he f o r e, and w it h it , he r r age. M ir anda c l u t ched h i s coa t s l eeve. A p i nch of some t h i ng li ke pa i n bu t ti nged w it h p l easu r e ri pp l ed down he r fi nge r s. Ins t an t l y, fir e caugh t ho l d of t he g r easy woo l of h i s s l eeve. I t li cked up h i s coa t w it h a h i ss.
    He ju m p e d b a ck w ith a scr ee ch , th e fr a ntic m ov eme nt only ma king th e fl ame s grow . T h e y lik e d to d a nc e. I t g a v e th em po we r .
    Pa i n sea r ed he r t h r oa t fr om whe r e he ’ d p i nned he r . “ I d i d wa r n you. ” I t wo rri ed he r how fl a t he r vo i ce was, and some t h i ng deep w it h i n he r hea rt fr oze and t u r ned b l ack and p itil ess.
    T h e thug didn’t a nsw e r; h e wa s too busy try i ng to beat out th e fir e spr ea ding ov e r his co a t a nd biting at his h a ir . M ir a nd a turn e d a nd st a rt e d do w n th e a ll e y .
    O n l y to h ea r hi m scr eam. T h a t scr eam. I t wa