The way he says my name, almost tenderly, makes my skin itch.
“I’m going to bond you,” he adds, as if he’s offering me something good. Like I should be grateful. “Then we can be together.”
“I’d rather bleed out, right here in the dirt, than be yours,” I snap. Probably not the smartest move, given the circumstances, but it’s the truth.
Behind me, his father lets out a quiet, amused breath. “I told you, Son,” he says to Jackson. “She’s outsider trash. Doesn’t understand what an honor it is.”
His grip tightens just enough to remind me how completely trapped I am, and his mouth moves to my ear, reeking of Scotch whiskey. “I told him not to do it. That you’re not worth wasting one of his bonded spots on. He only gets three.”
Three.
Something about that number resonates, echoing through my memory. I know I’ve seen it before, but where?
“What do you mean three?” I ask.
Jackson’s father answers like it’s obvious. “Each man in The Order is allowed to bond up to three women. It’s our right.”
Of course.
The list on Carrson’s computer. The names. Each man followed by three women. It makes sense now. Those women weren’t just listed. They were bonded. Claimed. Owned.
We cut our palms. Both of us.That’s what Lou told me when she talked about it.
My eyes go to the knife. That’s what it’s for. Jackson wants to bond me, and, if he does, I’ll be his.Forever. I don’t understand everything, but I have a feelingeven Carrson can’t break a bond. Which means if Jackson is successful, I don’t just lose my freedom. I lose Carrson.
My panic doesn’t disappear, but it solidifies and turns dangerous. There’s too much at stake here for me to give up. My lungs burn as I force myself to draw in a slow breath around the dryness in my throat, testing the hold Jackson’s dad has on me, feeling where his arm presses and where it loosens just slightly when I move.
He’s strong.
But he’s not invincible.
Jackson keeps talking, something about how this will work, how I’ll understand eventually, his voice grating, distant, like it’s coming from somewhere far away. I let it blur, let him think I’m frozen, still trapped in that first wave of fear.
I’m not. Not anymore.
I let out a breath and force my body to go slack. I sink down enough for my foot to touch the ground briefly. I extend my toe, searching, testing for something solid, leverage. My fingers curl, my shoulders drop as I release more air from my lungs, ignoring the burn.
There.
A small opening when the grip on me loosens. I prepare myself, ready to push off my foot and launch into motion.
That’s when Carrson enters the clearing.
He strolls in, as if he’s out for an evening walk, with his hands tucked in his pockets.
“Jack.” He gives a small nod to the man holding me, then glances down at the ground. “Jackson.”
He doesn’t even look my way.
What the fuck? Is he still mad at me?
“What’re you doing here, Carrson?” Jackson hisses, his mouth twisted into an unhappy grimace.
“I think a better question is, what areyoudoing?” Carrson moves toward Jackson, walking at a leisurely pace.
“Go away.” Jackson’s scowl deepens, his eyes burning. “Becky’s mine.”
“Well, that’s a problem.” Carrson’s reached Jackson now. “You see, she’s actually mine, and I’m terrible at sharing.”
