Hooked: Chapter 30

The way Hook speaks to me curdles my insides like sour milk.

Even though I despise what he’s done, having his insults rain down like knives is a painful type of torture. It slices into my veins and bleeds me dry, leaving me brittle like fallen leaves.

My fingers tangle in the choker, wondering why he told me not to take it off. It’s beautiful, but I can’t imagine its importance goes far beyond its worth, and knowing I don’t even have control over what I’m wearing is another slash against my newfound pride.

The heat of Hook’s palm sears my hip as we walk into the main ballroom. It’s beautiful—as these events usually are—chandeliers drenched in crystals and tables set for kings, but I’m not impressed. I wasn’t lying when I told him I’ve been to a thousand. My father has deep pockets and that makes him a renowned guest at many charity functions.

I wonder if he’ll be here. The thought is fleeting as it whispers across my mind, but I grab onto it and hold tight, hope flaring in my chest for the first time in days.

We make our way through the tuxedos and ball gowns, until we reach the open bar, Hook ordering a whiskey neat for himself and passing me a glass of champagne. I take a sip, relishing in the way the bubbles fizz and pop on my tongue. Normally, I don’t like the way alcohol makes me feel, but I’m going to need something to keep the fake smile on my face.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” He clinks his glass to mine. “You’ll forgive me for being a few days late, I was rather preoccupied.”

A sharp jab of anger punches me in the chest. “How do you know that?”

He smiles, setting his whiskey on the bar. “You’d be surprised at how much I know.”

“What’s that mean?”

“That means whatever I want it to mean.” He leans in, his eyes turning cold. “I know of your birth, Wendy Michaels.” His lips press against my cheek. “And I’ll know of your death.”

My heart spasms, free-falling to the floor. “Is that a threat?”

He sighs, backing away. “I find threats to be terribly wasteful. I only speak of things I intend to see through.”

Anger at this entire situation burns me from the inside out. “If you’re going to kill me anyway, why should I bother being your obedient bitch?” I realize a second too late how loud my voice is—how well it carried across the room.

His hand moves fast, wrapping around my neck and jerking me into him. To anyone else, we must look like lovers in a passionate embrace. But all I feel is nausea and panic sloshing through my stomach and surging to my throat.

“Be very careful what you say next.” His grip loosens. “You’re a bleeding heart, darling. It’s not your own life you should be worried about.”

My face drops, teeth grinding so hard I’m afraid I’ll break a molar.

He turns slightly, beaming at a couple that’s walking toward us. “Perk up dear, it’s showtime.”

“Commissioner, so good to see you.” His voice melts in the air like rich chocolate, tempting and sinful. “And your beautiful wife. Hello again, Linda. Always a pleasure.” He leans in and kisses her cheek before reaching my way, wrapping an arm around my waist. “This is my date, Wendy Michaels.”

I nod, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

The man grins, his bushy blond mustache twitching. “Wendy Michaels, as in Peter’s daughter?” He chuckles, looking to Hook. “How’d you bag this one? She seems a little out of your price range.”

My chest sears from the insult.

Linda giggles. “Oh, darling. Don’t be rude.”

I expect Hook to laugh, but he doesn’t, his body tightening as he tilts his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Reginald. Are you insinuating something about me?” He points to himself. “Or about who I choose to have on my arm?”

The air thickens as the grin drops from the commissioner’s face. The tension lingers as Hook stares him down. “A gentleman knows when to apologize after insulting a lady.” His brows rise.

My heart kicks against my ribs, my eyes volleying between them.

Reginald clears his throat, his gaze resting on me. “I apologize, Miss Michaels. I meant no disrespect.”

My eyes widen, disbelief turning my stomach as I realize just how much power Hook really has. If he’s able to speak to the police commissioner this way, how can I ever expect to be free?

The commissioner shifts on his feet, glancing around. “Ru’s still avoiding these things like the plague, I take it?”

Hook’s body stiffens, his grip tightening around my waist until I fidget, a small whimper escaping me. He looks down, his fingers stroking where he pinched.

“I’m afraid Ru took a very sudden and permanent vacation,” he clips, his neck muscles straining like he had to force the words from his throat.

Linda sighs. “That sounds lovely. I’ve been trying to get Reginald to retire for some time.”

The commissioner is staring at Hook, wrinkles forming between his brows. “That’s a real shame,” he says slowly. “I had a meeting with him next week about a possible donation.”

Hook gives a thin smile, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m afraid you’ll have to reschedule and meet with me.”

The Commissioner nods, sucking on his teeth. “Well, Ru was always someone who—”

My ears go fuzzy as Hook’s fingers knead the curve of my hip, his arm wrapping me in closer to his side. I look up at him, wondering if he even realizes what he’s doing. His jaw muscle tics, but his eyes stay locked on Reginald and his wife.

I’m not sure what makes me do it, and I’m sure at the end of the night—when I’m forced back into the reality of my situation—I’ll regret it, but I reach up, my hand rubbing his arm. “Darling, my feet are getting tired. Do you think you can show me to our seats?”

Hook’s gaze lands on me, his brows jumping to his hairline and his eyes softening. He picks up my hand with his, bringing it to his mouth, skimming his lips across the back. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Shivers dance up my arm, traitorous butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

What is wrong with me?

He nods to the couple. “Commissioner. Linda. If you’ll excuse us.”

My gut flips as we walk, nerves making my limbs tremble, wondering whether he’s going to be angry that I interrupted his chat. What was I thinking?

“I’m sorry,” I mutter as we reach the table. “I just—you looked uncomfortable, and he kept going on and on and I—”

Hook pulls out a chair for me to sit, leading me into it with his finger pressed against my lips. “Hush.”

My mouth snaps closed, unease worming its way through me like a snake. I’ve never experienced as much anxiety in my life as I do around him. Most of the time, his personality is calm waters, still and sparkling and as clear as glass. But a single drop can disrupt the entire surface, and you never know when the rain will hit.

I glance around at the few other people sitting at the table. In the past, I’ve known most everyone at these events. But this is Massachusetts, not Florida, so all of these people are strangers. None of them are paying any attention to me, anyway. It’s him they all have their eyes on, and I don’t blame them. Even knowing what he’s capable of—knowing what he’s done to me—there’s a certain type of feeling that comes along with being on the arm of the most powerful man in the room. I wish I could ignore it, but it’s there whether I want it to be or not. The same way that I can’t shake off the conversation between him and the commissioner. I’ve never seen Hook rattled before, and this. This rattled him. I try to push the thought from my mind, knowing I shouldn’t give a damn.

But I do.

Before he showed his true colors, I was falling for him. Or for the version he presented, anyway. And feelings don’t just go away, they merely shift and change as your soul breaks, molding themselves into the cracks. My feelings for Hook may be mangled and unrecognizable, but that doesn’t mean they’ve disappeared.

“I met Ru, didn’t I?” I ask, unable to stop the words from leaping off my tongue.

His fingers pause from where they’re drumming on the table. “You did.”

“It’s nice he got to retire.”

Hook’s face snaps to mine. His hand shoots out, gripping underneath my seat and pulling, my chair dragging loudly across the wood floor. I gasp, the air cold as it flows down my throat, clashing with the heatwave of embarrassment rising through my chest.

His nose brushes mine, the intensity of his glare freezing me into place. “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” he whispers. “But it stops now. I suggest you don’t test me.”

My heart stutters. “I’m no—not playing any games.”

He breathes in deep, his gaze flickering from my eyes to my mouth, then back, energy crackling in the space between us. And then he looks past me, and his entire demeanor changes.

I jump when his palm lands on my thigh underneath the table, squeezing in a bruising grip. “Remember what’s at stake.”

I scoff, anger brewing in my gut. “As if I’d forget, I—”

“Wendy?”