Page 96 of Last Man Standing

Better than her nails, I suppose.

“Stop staring at me,” she grumbles, her hand moving smoothly across the lined page. “I can feel you.”

“Good. I like that you can feel it.” I cross to my bed and rip the book out from under her pen, and though a violent gasp bursts from her throat, I snap it closed, grin, and offer my hand instead. “Come with me.”

Furious, she sits back and glares. “Why?”

Boiled spaghetti, my ass.

“Because I’d like to take you somewhere. And before you freak,” I add quickly, because I know her better than she knows herself, “My mother isn’t even on the property.”

“She’s…” Stunned, Scarlett’s suspicious eyes turn curious. “She leaves?”

I bark out a noisy laugh and toss her book onto the bed. When she instinctively reaches out to grab it, I snatch her hand and yank her to her feet instead. “Yes, she leaves sometimes. She’s no more a prisoner than you are.”

“But…” She drags her feet, digging her heels into the floor. “Where does she go? I thought the whole point of this secret place was⁠—”

“To live.” I swing the door wide and shove my poor princess into the hall. I lead her left, past the kitchen, through the deserted chow hall, and into another hall that’ll lead us down, since I don’t feel like dealing with anyone else for the next few hours. “The whole point of this place was freedom. It was about giving her, and by extension, my dad and my brothers and me, someplace safe to exist. But that doesn’t mean she can’t leave whenever she wants. It’s not like she’s a recognizable public figure, and she has enough paperwork to provide her with IDs that say whatever the hell she wants them to say. If she’s craving ice cream, it’s not uncommon for my dad to take her to town.”

“Shut up.” Scarlett stumbles on the cold stairs and doesn’t even seem to care that she might hit the floor. Because she knows she won’t. She knows I won’t let go. “They do not go into town for ice cream. You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying!” I snort. “There’s this trampoline place about an hour away that Koda loves. He’s worn the branding off every surface in that building, even the ceilings, because he doesn’t understand the concept of keeping still.”

“A trampoline space?” she balks. “You’re not being serious.”

“I actually am. And when I was Koda’s age…” I lower my voice conspiratorially, which only sounds more ominous as we enter the dark concrete tunnel and make our way across the property. “Way back when I was five or six, she’d take me to the library for story-time every Wednesday at eleven o’clock.”

She throws her head back and laughs so loud, the sound becomes a third presence inside this tunnel, her mirth a bouncy ball that jumps from wall to wall. “Stop it.”

“Can’t censor me, babe. It’s true. She and Mav are headed to town right now.”

“To do what, exactly? Was Mav a good boy who ate all his vegetables, so now he’s earned a trampoline excursion?” She drops her lips into a pout. “Are you sad you didn’t get to go? A mother shouldn’t play favorites with her children, Sebastion.”

I roll my eyes and trade our grip from pushing her along the plank to draping my arm over her shoulders, and when she doesn’t fight me on it, I ignore the wild flip flop of my heart as her hand slips easily into my back pocket.

Well fuck…

“You’ll find any excuse to hate my mother, won’t you?” I squeeze her shoulder to counteract the momentary wariness clouding her eyes. “Arabella Jameson has always played favorites. Mav and Koda hate knowing it’s me. I’m the favorite.”

“Of course you are. Your mom doesn’t hate me because of… that stuff.” She dips her chin in greeting as we pass a guard. Good girl. Keep the secret. “She hates me because her firstborn son had the audacity to bring a woman home. God forbid sweet Sebastion stop suckling at Mommy’s teat beyond his thirtieth birthday.”

“You’re gonna need to shut the fuck up about teats.” I move her up the next set of cold concrete stairs. “There’s joking, and then there’s making me wanna puke all over your shoes.”

“Oh, you’re right,” she drawls. “That’s where the line is. My apologies.”

I bring her back into the world above ground, on the far side of the courtyard, an easy thirty feet beyond the end of the pool. My stomach jumps in response to her cataloging eyes, especially as we continue toward the medical wing and a security tower spears high into the sky.

She’s looking. Learning. Memorizing.

“Where are we going?” Gone is her cheerful mood, and in its place is morbid curiosity. “Another tour?”

“Eh. Kinda.” I curl my arm around and tap the underside of her chin to steer her in the direction I want to go. “We have six lookouts on the property. Three soldiers manning each. Six-hour rotations.”

Horrified, she drops her weight and tears herself out of my grip. “Sebastion! Why are you telling me this?” She swings her terrified gaze left, to a trio of men waiting at the bottom of a tower for their shift to begin, then right, back to the house she considers her prison. “This is the stuff she doesn’t want me to know! It’s⁠—”

“My offering.” I come around and cup her face in both hands. Fuck the security cameras, and fuck the men watching us. Fuck the reports that’ll get back to my mother. Fuck it all. I fold my neck and press a tentative kiss to her lips. “We can be boiled spaghetti together, Princess. Or we can be strong and brave and trust each other not to abuse the powers we have.”

“But—”