And maybe I’m even more of an asshole for pretending that it doesn’t hurt when shestilltries to lean away, eyes darting to the small gap between the bushes with a direct view of the people milling around the courtyard.
I run my tongue over my teeth, trying to find the inner strength that I don’t possess to be understanding of her situation. I’m not. I don’t understand why she spent monthsthrowing herself at me and stopped the moment she got what she wanted.
There’s no universe where I’ll accept that she’s changed her mind—not when she was fucking herself on my hockey stick whenever I wasn’t moving. Not when she still sleeps in my clothes and does the little lip bite she’s always done when she’s texting me.
“Why are you here?” There’s that unease in her voice. Her eyes keep darting between me and the gap between the trees.
“I told you.”
The twelve hoops and studs that usually decorate her ears have been reduced to two, her septum piercing is gone, and her tattoos are covered. How painfully respectable.
I hate it.
She’ll spend her entire life cowering and hiding, all because she’s afraid of a woman half a head shorter than her, who has no tangible control over her.
“They’re calling it a home invasion. I... Mom described what they did to Thomas.” She frowns, but her voice doesn’t hold the level of emotion I’d expect of someone reflecting on the violent fate of a person they know. “His head was caved in, and he had internal bleeding. Apparently, there was blood everywhere, and several of his ribs were broken.”
It’s detached. She says it like someone telling a fictional story, or reporting on numbers, not like she genuinely cares.
Mina seems more concerned about being caught out here with me than about the brutal murder of the man she’s known since childhood.
She wraps my coat tighter around her.That, I like. I’ll never stop getting a kick out of seeing her in my clothes.
“What sort of person would do something like that?” she adds like an afterthought, something she knows she should say.
“A jealous one. Or ispossessivethe better word?”
Her full attention swings to me, and she stiffens under my arm. “What do you mean?”
“He should’ve kept to himself,” I answer simply. I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us. “I told you we were having dinner at six.”
There it is. A gasp. Her first genuine reaction to his death.
And me? She’s finally giving me what I want, because she doesn’t look horrified or disgusted. Just shocked.
“No, you—youkilled him,” she says just above a whisper, glancing around like she’s making sure no one heard.
I lean closer to make sureshehears every word. There’s no point beating around the bush. “I did more than just kill him. He touched you. He’s lucky his hands are only broken and are still attached to his body. I was going to leave them gift-wrapped for you.” A long strand of hair has escaped from her bun, and I tuck it behind her ear. “Take this as your one and only warning of what happens to any man you speak to.”
Now the look of horror comes, but it seems more of a belated emotion. It’s still there, nonetheless, alongside the shock.
Wait a second . . . is she blushing?
“You’re crazy.”
She’s breathless. She’s fuckingbreathless.Does shelikethat I killed someone for her?
“Says the person who made two fake accounts, befriended my sister, and broke into my house because she’s obsessed with me.”
Christ, I think she likes that I’m this insane about her.
“I’m not?—”
I quirk a brow. She closes her mouth.
“Youlikecrazy.”
Her jaw drops, but she doesn’t deny it. “I never went this far. This—this is illegal.”
