Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
I haven’t figured out why he hasn’t done the same to me yet. I used to think it was because he answered to a higher hand, his dad, but now that he is the higher hand, it’s only left me confused.
Right now, he’s implying that I’ve kept more from him than he has of me, and maybe it’s true, but unfortunately, those same hands that raised him did me. Maybe it’s the vulnerability of emotions that are still raw from the argument with my parents, or maybe it’s from ignoring everything that happened between us last night, or maybe it’s that small girl that he always manages to bring out every time we’re together.
“I wasn’t with Archer Thorn.” My mouth snaps shut. Shit.
“I know.” His tone is leveled and controlled. He’s staring between my mouth and my eyes, that same furrow buried between his brows. I’m so lost in my opiate state I miss his words.
“Wait, what?” The weight of where this conversation could go holds me in place, but the fragile pulse of my heart rate slows me.
As if questioning his own words, he watches me closely, and each second his eyes roam my face feels calculated. “I don’t know where you were. Wanna fill me in?”
I clear my throat, but it’s like swallowing razor blades. My hands land on my neck, the pendant burning my palm. This is the hopeless kind of sadness that poets write about.
“And if I said I can’t?”
He holds my stare. “Then I’d tell you that I know everything you think I don’t. That I know the kind of training that goes into building the side of this society that is never talked about, and I’d finally say that you better pray I don’t find out that that’s where you learned to throw those fucking stars, or I’ll start a war.”
“You’d rather I was with Archer Thorn all those years than be with people who cared about me?” Like the wound on my thigh, I can’t seem to gain control of my emotions.
“Care?” Priest rears his head back. He’s about to answer when his face falls. “So you were?”
“No!” My answer is clipped, and I fold my arms in front of myself. “No.”
“And the hit last week? Which, if I even need to mention, was not sent by me.”
My eyes close. Fuck. I forgot about that. Who sent him to collect that night? I hadn’t even had a moment to talk to Nate. “I was trained, yes, but not as you’re implying.”
His phone lights up in his hand again and I see a name flash over the screen when he answers.
My mouth turns dry, and suddenly, I want nothing more than to crawl back into the hole I came out of. I focus on the flurry of greenery. This is a marriage of convenience. Worse than that. A marriage of survival. But I’ve spent my whole life walking along a desolate path. I know what comes from what I do, and I’ve always understood. Even when I signed the marriage certificate before I could understand its importance, I knew what would always be expected of me.
“What?” His tone is cold. Nothing at all like the one he used moments ago. “When? Why didn’t he call me?” He cusses under his breath, kicking his foot up to rest against the chair opposite us. “Little late for that now. But you can tell him that she had a pretty view all the way down to the bottom of the cliff I threw her off of.” His arm brushes mine when he lowers it.
I lean my head back against the chair. My eyes barely close when his fingers force my head toward his, keeping his phone pressed against his ear.
I stop breathing. The hold he has on me too strong.
With a gentle swipe of his thumb, he returns to the caller. “I told them I didn’t want one, nor do I need one—” He pauses. Goose bumps spread over my skin, my hand scrubs at my arms to warm them.
“Fine. For now.” He must end the call because the car falls silent.
I should probably text my parents. It’s not their fault. This world balances on all lines, testing every inch of whatever you have to give.
“Madness…” The strain in his tone has my eyes snapping to him, that same prickling of fear rolling through me.
I shuffle up my chair. “What is it?”
He doesn’t turn, so my fingers curl around the edge of his hoodie, part of me afraid he’ll stop my movements. When he doesn’t, I lower it to the back of his neck, bringing my hand to his cheek and forcing his eyes onto me, and my breath hitches. So many thoughts racing through his head, none of them bringing him peace but more war.
“Where were you?”