“But,” Henry tries to butt in, but I hold out my free hand. A large piece of ash floats down and lands on the tip of my ring finger.
“I’d burn everything to the ground if it meant preserving true love.” I shake my hand to flick off the airy remnants of someone’s possession and swallow down a fiery, gritty feeling. “Aurora is waiting for you,” I deadpan when he doesn’t sling back a rebuttal quickly enough. Her white, furry slippers are gray now and her face is contorted in agitation as she shuffles next to Durnin. “I care so little, I won’t even mention what you told me.”
Henry winces. Either from my words or from Aurora Ball screeching into his ear. Her almond-shaped eyes land on Luke and her face transforms with wonder. The pit in my stomach blooms into dread. Aurora is a virus. I wonder if she knows it, or if it’s a trait she was born with.
Luke tugs my hand, and I take a step backward toward where I know I should go.
Henry clears his throat and looks up through his lashes. “Happy Birthday, Aarabelle.”
A cell phone has been vibrating in Luke’s pocket the entire time we’ve been here. The police officers are clearing the parking lot and blocking off the entrance, and we make it back to the bright yellow Lambo with seconds to spare.
Hart is driving aggressively, bobbing and weaving around parked vehicles to make it to the exit. He’s talking to someone, his cell phone cradled between his shoulder and ear because he has to shift gears. I’d say something, but I can’t forget the way Aurora looked at Luke. Is still looking at his car as he maneuvers us away. Her eyes alight with challenge. Lust. Retribution.
“Don’t let anyone in. Are we clear? No one,” Hart’s command cuts my thoughts. “I’ll be there in twenty and I’ll be the one to approve people.” There’s silence while he listens to whoever is on the other end speak. “Rip up the fucking list and burn it.” A pause. “Well then torch the fucking computer and buy a new one. We’re starting from scratch and I’m not taking any chances.”
When he notices I’m staring at him, mouth ajar, he hangs up, tosses his phone into the back seat and tentatively slips his hand onto my thigh. I leave it there for a second, debating on throwing it off and asking him to explain everything. Like my body is his reward for honesty. That’s not the kind of love I want.Equal, I think.
Instead, I set my hand on top of his, interlacing our fingers. “Who do we need to kill, Hart?”
His laugh is pained, but at least it’s a laugh.
