“Why did you kiss me?”
Because…
“It felt right.” Feeling foolish, I fist my hands at my side but hold his gaze because my mother raised me to meet any challenge head-on. “Why did you let me?”
The arrogant man smirks at me. “It felt right.”
I haven’t laughed in ages, but his sarcastic reply has me in stitches. Maybe it’s the loneliness I’ve felt since Faith moved back to Mayhem catching up with me. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve been unhappy with the direction of my life. I spent four years in SHU, earning a degree in Medieval and Renaissance studies, which was a massive waste of time and money. Because rather than put it to use, I work at my father’s firm. He needed help, and I, being the good daughter, stepped in to lend a hand. The temporary position somehow became permanent. But now, with him dying…
Each morning, I recognize myself less and less. It’s the reason I finally understood how Faith felt living in Brighton and why shehadto return to Mayhem.
I’ve spent my life living a lie. Wearing one face for the world and one for myself. Piece by piece, I fell apart without realizing it. Dropping parts of myself everywhere I went until there was nothing left but a blank canvas for me to paint a whole new person on.Thisperson. Who already said goodbye to her dying father. Who saved her own life when someone tried to kill her.
And who walked right up to Havoc Taylor and kissed him on the mouth.
You know what?
I think, when all is said and done, I’m going to be okay.
7
KERRI
“I’m coming for you, Duchess. Run.”
Gasping, I sprint into an old, abandoned building on the outskirts of a burned-out town. I spin and search everywhere. Check everything. You never know what tools are hidden in chests left behind by the long-gone citizenry. Some of those citizens lie dead around me, and I loot their corpses shamelessly in my hunt for extra ammo.
Bonus.
A full magazineanda protein bar.
I pound the B button to consume the food. Use the Y button to reload my weapon. Then shove Havoc in real life, who’s planted beside me on the sofa. “Do your worst, pal.”
We’ve been at this Xbox shooter game for hours. Initially, I agreed to play because there’s not much else to do. But I’ve found it’s fun, and I’ve created a badass avatar. She’s dressed in her post-apocalyptic best, sprinting from Havoc’s Viking-monster character with its ginormous machine gun.
Of course, Havoc would be great at shooter games (obviously), and I’m not (also obviously). I’ve spent much of the game hiding from his character, dodging bullets, shooting wild, and searching for protein bars to stay alive. He’s spent it hunting me and murdering me.
“Don’t get cocky, Duchess. I’ve killed you, what, nine times?”
Ten.
“I recall killing you twice.”
He snorts at my boast. “Once. You killed me once. The second time I stepped on a landmine. My demise had nothing to do with you.”
I shrug and move my character behind a dumpster, which seems appropriate since I play like trash. “Whatever.”
“I’ll give youwhatever.” Havoc’s hulking, camo-wearing Viking-monster sneaks up behind mine. “Boo,” he says.
I squeak and spin my character. Grind my thumb over the X button until the pad of my finger hurts. The shots go wide.Of course. Havoc snickers. I want to punch him square in the mouth. A split second later, a single headshot murders my avatar. In proper unsportsmanlike form, Havoc tea bags the corpse. The game ends with him winning.
Again.
I toss the controller at him. “You suck.”
Smirking, he dodges it. The controller lands harmlessly on the sofa. “Never would have pegged you for a sore loser.”
“I’m not. You’re a smug winner.” God, I’m so mad he’s won eleven times I can’t even think straight. “And be careful who you peg, Havoc Taylor. Someone might peg you back.”
