Page 112 of Shatter

For a second, I don't understand.

Then I do.

Tindra in the coffee shop, smiling like somebody handed her the moon, and the black leather vest on the chair beside her with its curving white letters.

Property of.

The heat drains out of my face so fast my lips go numb.

"Anni?" He leans forward. "I know it's... I know how it sounds. But it doesn't mean..."

"What does it say?" My voice is perfectly flat.

He stops.

"The patch." I don't blink. "What does it say, Espen? The words. What would be stitched on my back?"

His throat moves.

"Property of Hakon." He says it low. "But it isn't..."

"Property." The word comes out of me like something spat. "Property."

"It means something different here." He reaches for my hand, but when I pull away, he goes still. "You'd be mine to protect, and every man in this club would die for you. It means nobody touches you, ever, or they answer to all of us."

"It means I belong to you." I'm on my feet before I know I've stood up. "It means you own me."

"No." He stands too. "No, Anni, that isn't..."

"My father signed a paper." The words are pouring out of me now, too fast, hot and bitter. "Did you know that? An actual paper. A prenuptial agreement Desmond's lawyers drew up. My father signed it at the dining room table with the same pen he used for shipping contracts. My name was on it, and what I was worth to them."

He doesn't move.

"And Desmond put his hand on the back of my neck." My voice cracks down the middle. "He squeezed, and he said, you're mine now, Annika. You belong to me."

His face goes white.

"I'm not him." It tears out of him, raw. "Anni. Look at me. I'm not him."

The room goes silent.

The words sit on my tongue, cold and sharp as a blade, and I know exactly where they'll cut.

I let them go anyway.

"That's exactly what he said." My voice doesn't even shake.

Hakon goes still.

"At the engagement party." I watch it hit him. "He took me out on the terrace, away from everybody, and he said, I know your father's been hard on you. I'm not him, Annika. I'm going to take care of you."

He looks like I've shot him.

His face doesn't move.

But his eyes do something I've never seen them do, some light in them flickering out, like a candle somebody pinched between two fingers.

His hands drop to his sides.