Black eyes meet mine. “Then you know what you need to do. Accept the bond.”
“Fine,” I huff.
“That’s not enough,” he says. “I want to hear it and make it good.”
The pressure of the last eleven days has only intensified my hatred for him. It’s grown harder, sharper. A lump of coal turned into a diamond with jagged, cutting edges.
“Fine.” I scowl. Overly dramatic, I say, “Oh great and mighty Carrson, I accept your terms. Free my father from his vices and provide for my future and I, Laurel Turner, will bond myself to you for the term of one year. To end on the day of your graduation from this esteemed university. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
I expect him to reprimand me for being sarcastic, for making a mockery of something he obviously holds dear, but he doesn’t. Instead, Carrson looks at me. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” He smiles in the darkness, a shark’s grin. All sharp white teeth. “I accept as well. Cross my heart and hope we both don’t die.”
Chapter eight
Laurel
Much to my surprise, Carrson is the one who takes me to see my father. On the way, he casually reminds me thatfrom now on I’m not allowed to go out on my own.
“Me or one of my guards—Jackson, Stevenson, whoever—will always be with you,” he tells me, his tone relaxed, like it’s no big deal. Like this is just how things are.
Without thinking, I grab his arm. “Not Jackson. Please. Anyone but him.”
Carrson slows, his expression darkening. “Why? Did he do something?”
This pussy will be mine. I’ll add it to my collection.
Jackson’s words from the first night I saw Carrson ring like alarm bells in my head. I remember the way he looked at me, like I was already claimed. I can’t tell Carrson, though. I don’t trust him not to report it back to Jackson. Or worse, laugh it off. If Jackson finds out I said anything, the target on my back will be too big to outrun. He would make a terrifying enemy.
I drop my gaze and shake my head.
Carrson tries again, pressing me, coaxing, but I don’t budge and eventually he gives up.
At least I don’t have to worry about Jackson today. It’s just Carrson and me, climbing the rickety wooden stairs to my second-floor apartment, the half-rotted planks groaning beneath our feet with every step.
I almost warn him about the handrail. Long ago, it must’ve been painted blue, but now the color flakes off in sharp-edged chunks, revealing wood underneath that’s splintered and mean. When we moved in, I dragged my hand along it and wound up with a dozen dagger-like shards buried under my skin. It took two hours and a pair of tweezers to dig them out.
The words,be careful, rise to my lips, but I swallow them back.
Let him touch it. Let the wood bite into his palms. Let him spend hours picking himself apart or, better yet, let those splinters fester. Let them turn into an infection that spreads up his arm like a red vine, winding tighter with every heartbeat.
It’s only fair.
Retribution for all the suffering he’s caused me.
Of course, he doesn’t touch the banister. Lucky, maybe. Or too smart for his own good.
My key is in my hand, the metal cold against my skin. Briefly, I consider stabbing him in the eye with it. If he’s blind, I could run away, grab my father, and move across the country, the world, if I have to, while Carrson waits in some sterile hospital for a corneal transplant, helpless and furious.
Like he’s read my mind, he sighs and plucks the key from my fingers, slipping it into his pocket. “Let me hold this for you,” he says with an overly sweet smile.
I hatehim.
So much.
When we reach the door, I plant myself in front of it and press my back to the wood, blocking his way in. “You stay out here. I’ll check on Dad, grab what I need, and come right back out.”
“You don’t want me to see inside,” he says in that direct way he has, the one that has absolutely no regard for other people’s feelings. “You’re embarrassed.”
“No,” I deflect, scuffing my foot on the ground, unable to meet his gaze. I school my expression to be nonchalant. “That’s not it.”
