As much as I really want to argue with his logic, Nash isn’t wrong. I was hurt yesterday. I’m exhausted, and I’d love nothing more than to sleep for a week.
But there’s no rest for the wicked. Not when I’m still on a mission for revenge and no one seems to feel the same burning urge to get it done as quickly as I do.
Because they didn’t watch their lives burn down. They didn’t stand there and survive it.
It’s all a bunch of hurry up and wait. Of being forced to play it safe. Waiting to see what’s going to happen, instead of making a move, and that’s my biggest problem here.
I need to do something.
I’m so close, and yet every day that passes makes me feel like I’m further away than I was yesterday.
A small scar on the edge of the wooden kitchen table draws my attention the same way the rubber bands on my wrist do. I pick at it with my thumb while I try to figure out my next step, tracing the slight groove over and over.
Getting here, finding Midnight, and killing Deacon.
I had a plan. I was going to do this on my own. Ineededto do this on my own. Except they put the kibosh on that, and now I’m stuck. Floundering.
Ash would tell me I’m being predictable. That anger without direction is just noise.
Maybe that’s what I need.
I need to start thinking about a new plan and what I can do now. I’m not useless. I’m not stupid. I’m not going to fail. I just need a new plan. One that’s foolproof. One that takes into consideration the knowledge that I was essentially summoned to New Orleans.
Someone sent me that photograph. They wanted to bring me here. For a reason.
But ever since I got here, I’ve hidden in the shadows of my goal, and I’ve let things happen to me. I’m not that girl. I don’t just…exist.
“Here.”
I look up from the table to see Nash sliding a plate in front of me. On it, there’s a piece of toast with peanut butter on it.
The smell hits me first—warm bread, sweet honey—and my stomach twists hard enough to make me realize just how long it’s been since I ate anything that wasn’t shoved down out of necessity.
“What’s this?”
“You spaced out, and you haven’t eaten since yesterday. You’re hungry, even if you won’t admit it. And planning—because we both know that’s what you’re sitting there doing—is easier on a full stomach.”
He says it like he knows me. Like he’s already figured out the patterns I haven’t even realized I have yet.
I really want to refuse, but my mouth is watering at the sight of the honey glistening on top of the peanut butter.
“This doesn’t mean anything. I’m still mad at you.” I lift a haughty brow and take a giant bite. My mumbling is only slightly spoiled by the peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth.
“I don’t care, little wolf.” Nash gives me a brief glance and then turns to put the bread away. “You can be as mad as you want, but you’re not going to work.”
I stick a peanut-butter-covered tongue out at him, just in time for him to turn around and catch me.
For a second, I feel ridiculous. Normal. Like this is just…life. Breakfast. Banter. Not blood and revenge and ghosts of the past breathing down my neck.
He chuckles, low and dark, right before he circles the counter to lean behind me and press his lips to my ear. “Be careful, Reva. You’re already tempting me with your attitude. Acting like a brat will only end with you over my lap and your ass red from my hand. Keep pushing.”
Heat flashes through me, sharp and immediate, cutting straight through the exhaustion and anger like it belongs there.
I choke, peanut butter and honey stuck in my throat as that image plays on repeat in my mind. I should be outraged, but instead…it’s a damn good thing I’m choking and have an excuse for the pink staining my cheeks, because there’s no way I can hide my blush.
His breath is still right there, dancing across the sensitive skin of my neck, while I try to catch my breath.
“That’s it, little wolf.” I can feel his smile even if I can’t see it. “Breathe through it. And maybe if you’re good today while I get some work done, I’ll give you another reason to blush.”
