Page 105 of Swallow Your Sorries

Sylo gapes at her in awe, his ragged breathing slowing. “You aren’t afraid of spiders?”

“When you can’t afford a pet, you find free ones. I’m sorry you had to get caught up in my shit. But if Gant’s your cousin, I assume you’re used to it.” She goes to untie a sash around his ankle, but he moves his foot away.

“Please don’t touch me,” he mutters lowly before his gaze jumps to Étienne. “Don’t give that fucking psycho another reason.”

“Tell her,” I interject, hating their friendly banter.

Sylo’s lip stiffens and Elle glances between us.

“Tell me what?”

“Go on,” I say encouragingly.

“I’ve bent the knee to his highness,” Sylo mutters, his eyes shooting daggers at me. “So that means I follow the king’s orders now.”

“And the king forbade it,” I say.

“I don’t care what thekingsays. I’m not one of your chess pieces.”

“I put you on my chessboard, so you’re a part of the game. Simple. Move or don’t, but I’ll knock down anyone that interacts with you. Anyone that gets close to you.”

Her expression hardens.

“You may not care what I do to you, but you have a soft spot, an inclination towards losers.” I spare a glance at Sylo. “And you can’t rescue them all so I wouldn’t bother involving them in the first place. Unless of course, you have no conscience?”

I know a witty reply is on the tip of her tongue, but she bites it.

“Get out,” I say to the others before snatching the back of Elle’s grotesque blazer, as she tries to follow behind Zedd, Bae and Zoi who sprints happily through the door with a wag of his tail.

I grip her blazer tighter and realise thatshe didn’t get a chance to change into her leotard for her lesson with Sylo yet.

Good.

“Not you,”I hiss in her ear.

Étienne looks mournful as he frees Sylo's ankles before they both slink silently into the darkness.

When the door shuts, I circle to Elle's front, and my heart begins its erratic beat all over again.

“Who?”

“No one.”

“I knew you were a liar.” I can’t control them, my fingers that reach for her, for her left breast that’s also thudding madly over her heart.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieks, but it’s too late.

I’ve freed my tit and clamped her arms above her head in one hand.

The red mark is darker now with hues of purple.

“Who?” I hiss, pressing her against a filthy glass wall to pin her in place with my hips as she struggles to free herself. “Who touched you? Who put their lips on you?”

“I told you no one!” She stomps her foot, and I watch the recoil of her breast, momentarily mesmerized. But then I see that fucking mark and I grip her tighter, my anger, my outright betrayal blooming twofold.

The seconds tick by and when she realises the only way out is if I allow it, she stops struggling.

“No one touched me. Not directly. You saw them pour food onto me. Some of it was hot, and it burned me, okay? It’s a fucking burn!”

---