Orcould, for that matter.
Oh, yes, I’ve got secrets for days.
“Hush, Julia,” Barbara chides. As the mayor’s wife, she was the reigning queen before I came along and knocked her off her pedestal. She tolerates me because she has no choice. “Give ussomething, Jamie.”
I press my fingertips to lips that resonate with the hum of Wraith’s kiss. His strength is as terrifying as it is thrilling and being around him made me feel sixteen all over again. Like we were back in the schoolyard and my soul was his to take, cherish, or ruin at his will.
Before I was stupid enough to destroy it for him.
I muzzle my conscience because I can’t undo the wrong choices that brought me to this moment. I’m already saturated with regret and drowning in guilt. All I can do is break the surface and do what I can to right those mistakes.
The weight of three sets of eyes has me wanting to leap up from the table, smash the solarium’s glass walls and ceiling, and run as fast and as far from this luxurious jail as my legs can carry me. But I can’t, because lives depend on me. And the harpies are waiting for an answer.
I fold my hands on my lap, my composure a shield against the world. Avocado toast sits in my stomach like a brick. “Atticus is everything they say he is.”
Saying that name tastes disgusting in my mouth.
“Honestly, Jamie.” Eleanor huffs. “Anyone with vision can see he’s an impressive specimen.”
As if she’s referring to athing, a science experiment, rather than an actual person.
A person who’d comforted me a teenager when no one else gave a crap if I was hurting or lonely or afraid. A boy who’d broken through my defenses as if they’d been made of tissue rather than stone.
When I was young, I dreamed of things other kids took for granted. Things like bedtime stories and trips to the park. Family dinners and movie nights. I would imagine coming home from school to someone happy to see me. Someone who didn’t hurt me and who wasn’t drunk and angry at the world because he’d made lazy choices.
Someone who loved me.
During Pennsylvania’s endless winters, I took refuge inside Mayhem’s public library and lost myself in musty books no one but me had opened. I traveled everywhere through those pages. The fantastical stories brought me to the pyramids of Giza. The ruins of the Parthenon. Took me on exciting safaris and swept me away to the castles of medieval Europe. They showed me the world and lit a spark that still burns bright enough to keep the shadows at bay.
Those medieval castles left the biggest impression. I envied those majestic fortresses, with their massive walls. Impenetrable walls. Walls that became the blueprint of my survival.
Brick by brick, I built my own wall, until I constructed an indestructible barrier to protect me from hateful words and heavy fists. But a boy with a cocky grin and mischievous brown eyes put a crack in my beautiful wall.
I was supposed to fear of Eric Shaw. Everyone did, including adults. But how could I be frightened of him when he’d become my haven? No matter how strong the winds blew, how turbulent the sea, I knew I would be safe as long as Eric was my harbor when the storm raged around me.
The day I was arrested, I left my heart with the charismatic delinquent I loved since kindergarten. And last night, when Wraith told me Eric is dead, I saw right through his lie. He could never hide himself from me. I always saw the compassionate heart hidden beneath the bad reputation.
I hadn’t intended to admit my connection to David, hoping to delay the inevitable a while longer. But I’m vulnerable around Wraith, same as when we were kids. Back then, momentary bouts of recklessness resulted in beatings from my father that left scars on me I carry to this day.
Now, the stakes are higher. Carelessness can get me killed.
Get usbothkilled.
“We want details,” Barbara demands, her brown eyes wide, her red lips curled in a hungry grin.
Wolves are less bloodthirsty.
I remember every time Wraith had my back, and I level a glare at the harpies. I’ll give him the same loyalty he always gave me. “Atticus doesn’t like to be visited.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jamie,” Eleanor snaps. She sips her coffee. What I’d like to do is slap the cup up in the shrew’s face. “It’s what they sign up for.”
I slant a curious expression at my three guests. “What if theydidn’tsign up for this?”
Barbara’s brow furrows. “For what, dear?”
“To fight and be...visited.”
Raped.
