Page 86 of Kings of Sherwood

“I figured if you did end up hitched to Gisbourne, maybe that’d settle things,” he goes on. “Nice normal life for you, a little happy ending. But guess that was too easy for you, wasn’t it?”

He smiles faintly.

“That was pretty ugly, what those boys did to him.”

“He brought it on himself,” I growl. “Him and his mother. They both did.”

“Well, now, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” the sheriff says apologetically, still smiling. “But that sure did get everyone all worried again, didn’t it?”

His voice gets imperceptibly tighter, even in its lazy drawl.

“Sayin’ this place is dangerous. Needs oversight. ThatIcan’t do myjob.”

I’m not stupid. I can paint by numbers and I see where this is going.

“You just want to return me to John,” I say, hiccupping,babbling. “That’s it, right? Find the nice missing white girl. Cash in your little career win, everyone goes home happy.”

Except me, I think.But that clearly doesn’t fucking matter to him.

The sheriff sucks in a breath through his teeth, takes another sip of coffee, shakes his head.

“I’ll admit,” he says, wagging a finger, “I overcomplicated it. Made matters worse, letting your uncle there fund that price on the head of your little boyfriend. A miscalculation.” His voice carries a note of regret. “But it happens to the best of us.”

I can’t believe it. Talking about a hit job paid for with dirty money like it’s a fender bender or sleeping through your alarm?

“No, it fucking doesn’thappen,” I mutter quietly.

IthinkI’ve said it too low for him to hear.

But he freezes. His eyes narrow.

“What did you say?” he asks, voice suddenly cold.

“I said—”

He doesn’t wait for me to finish.

He takes two puffing steps and upends the Styrofoam cup right above my bare legs. Scalding liquid rains down on my skin.

“Ah—!” I wince, kicking fruitlessly, twisting and turning to get away when I can’t. Angry pink welts bloom over my skin. And I wish—desperately—that my hands were free. That I could heal myself.

I think of LJ. His words.

You can’t heal yourself if you’re dead.

A sob chokes in my throat.

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, despite the searing pain on my legs and the pounding in my head and the uncontrollable tears. “Okay. I get it. You’ve made your point.”

I gulp in a breath, nodding.

I don’t like it. I hate it, in fact.

But John’s a known quantity. Something I can escape from. Again.

The four of them will find me.

“I’m afraid not.” His smile is bigger now. A grin spreading the edge of his mustache wide. “You see, if I rescue you? That’s just clean-up, isn’t it. Too little, too late. It becomes a question of—why did it take so long? And why didn’t they do this, why didn’t they do that? People askin’ you questions you have no business answerin’.”

---