He slams me against the wall, causing a groan to slip from my lips as my head collides with the hard surface.
"Tell me your name," he says his voice low, so low that I can feel it vibrate through my body. I feel the barrel press up against my temple...
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"Aaron Hotchner." I let the worried look in my face melt away masking it with a cocky smirk. "We meet again."
I try to hide the fact that I'm panicking on the inside but there's really no point, he's a profiler. Why was he here? Had he followed me? How'd he even manage to find me? Pen had made sure that I was pretty much invisible in the system, sealing everything.
"Ella Clevenger, or what was the name you gave me? Williams? Walker? Wallace?" He asks with his eyebrows raised at me in a somewhat teasing manner. "That doesn't really matter now, does it?"
He was mocking me, tryin to rub in my face that he knows who I am and that he's the one in control. Which pisses me off.
"That cut seems to be healing well," I nod towards his head where I smashed him with the vase. There wasn't a bandaid on it anymore only a small scab. "I'm sorry about that by the way." I lie tilting my head to the side faking pity.
"You're not," he says crossing his arms. His strong muscles flexing under the dark blue button down.
"You're right, I'm not," I spat, lifting my eyes up to meet his.
He doesn't move a single muscle in his face. Keeping his intimidating eyes glued on me scanning every single detail of my face to make sure he remembers it. If he just came over here to stare at me like that I might as well just leave.
"Well this was a fun little reunion and all but I think I'm done for the night, I mean these heels are killing me from all the dancing," I groan, "nice moves by the way." I hadn't forgotten that he was practically grinding his crotch on my ass a few moments earlier. Not that I'm complaining or anything.
I make an attempt to slide past him so I can get on the first plane to London and never step a foot back in Virginia but I don't get very far since he takes a step to the side blocking my way.
"You're not going anywhere," he narrows his eyes at me.
Our chests were almost touching from the close proximity so I take a step back trying to read his face. Why was he even here? I mean grumpy workaholic who has a kid doesn't really match well with clubs.
"You don't really strike me as the clubbing type," I hum cocking my head to the side.
"It's because I'm not," he replies.
"Then why are you here?"
"I'm here with my colleagues, who are also FBI agents by the way," he says confidence laced in his words. Him and his little Scooby Doo gang doesn't scare me, I know my way around this club better then any of them so him trying to make me feel scared wasn't going to work.
"And where's your son? What's his name again? Jack?" I taunt walking closer to him and reaching over to fix the collar of his shirt. "Is he with his mom? Oh wait-," I fake a gasp as if just realizing something, "she was murdered. Just because you couldn't get to her in time." I pout patting down his collar neatly resting my hands on his shoulders.
