Page 48

Her eyes remain shut as she enjoys the warmth. I do my best to scrub every inch of dirt and grime off her legs and torso and help her clean her hair. I do everything not to touch her sexually.

Then I turn her around and clean her backside. I’ve gotten pretty efficient at this. It was my thing with London, and London ate it right up, too. The way Naomi leans into it makes me wonder how Ezra is with her. Judging by her current reaction to me, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was shit in bed. I’ve never understood Naomi’s attraction to him to begin with. He’s inferior to me on every level.

Once done, I step back and lay a blanket over her. She lifts her knees, exposing herself to me, and my dick immediately betrays me. She knows it. Believe it or not, I’ve only fucked this girl a handful of times, but given how horny I always am, this is like torture.

Fuck. Why do I have to be so easily distracted by pussy?

I help her put on an oversized T-shirt, and before I help her get fully dressed, she lets out a deep breath and mumbles, “I hate you, Micah. I hate you for leaving me for her. I hate you for the years you’ve treated me like shit.”

With a grimace, she launches a kick in my direction, narrowly missing as I dodge out of the way and catch her foot in my hands, restraining her.

“Fuck you, Micah,” she spits, her voice full of venom and delirious with fever. She’s bawling her eyes out, and it kills me. I really hate making girls cry.

I grab hold of the arch of her foot to calm her down and stop her from kicking me again. It works. She immediately melts into my touch as I dig my fingers into her foot. “I owe you an apology, Naomi. I should have at least given you an explanation. Just let me take care of you right now.”

Let me make something right.

This seems to appease her. She closes her eyes and falls back asleep while I rub her feet to make sure she’s relaxed. When I’m confident she’s out, I reach over and grab the dirty bucket of water.

She opens her eyes briefly when I drop her feet.

“Stay here. I’ll be back,” I tell her.

“I’m not going anywhere; I can barely move. Where are you going, Micah?”

“Fishing.” I let the door shutter behind me.

I need space to think right now. I can’t just abandon Naomi again, and I certainly can’t fuck her, even though she will eventually try.

I resist the urge to follow London’s tracks right now to claim her and bring her back tonight.

Is she expecting me to follow? Her absence is a pretty clear answer. She knew how I’d respond, that her leaving was the one thing I truly feared. She’s done with me, and I can’t blame her, even if I’m not quite done with her. As soon as Naomi gets better, I’ll drop her off with the others and take London back—whether she wants me to or not.

Chapter Twelve

London

Ice, I’ve decided, is very dangerous, especially when it gets cracked over your skull and used as a weapon. My hand is throbbing, the excruciating pain only dulled by the intense explosions in my head—my body can only comprehend so much pain at a time. I keep my eyes closed because I’m certain of whose arms I’m in right now. The stub of his hand, where his fingers should be, is wrapped around my waist, poking into my side.

Ezra.

Nigel must be the other set of feet crunching and slugging in the snow behind us. I’ve been awake for a while, but I don’t move or say anything as my body hangs limply, my legs down Ezra’s front and my head over his shoulder. He certainly doesn’t hold me with the comfort or grace Micah does—the rhythm of his body is more abrupt. His smell is different, too. His sweat is more… putrid.

Apparently, Ezra and Nigel don’t speak to each other since they haven’t uttered a word since I woke up.

I try to squeeze my hand into a fist and find, with horror, that I can’t move my fingers. A fresh wave of panic consumes me. My wound is bad, and I doubt these two will care enough to tend to it. I attempt to calm myself, recalling all the better ways Micah has taught me to react in a situation like this: surrender to the circumstances and take charge by influencing the environment and the people around me.

Breathe, London. Dull the pain. Focus, survive, then kill.

Kill.

I remain listless, keeping my eyes partly closed, and hone in on my surroundings. Based on the position of the sun, I’m reasonably confident the cabin is north. This means we are northeast of where Jade is, which is where I need to flee once I escape.

Ezra stalls, and he heaves me up as his hand—or should I say, lack thereof—slips. The silence of the snowy landscape is interrupted by his voice.

“She’s fucking heavy,” he mutters and pulls me up over his shoulder, my wounded hand hitting his side. “And she stinks.” It takes every ounce of my willpower not to cry out.

I want to scoff because I am not heavy—he’s just weak.