Page 79 of Born for Lace

A little smile hits her lips. Like a fool. A damn fool who thinks I am playing a game. I’m not. I’m warning her.

“I’mdisgustingon the inside,” she purrs. “Aren’t we all?”

Her last three words… Those three words nest into my guts and spawn. Aren’t. We. All…

No—not her.

I am.

You are.

Tomar is.

My head snaps up to the door as that last thought pounds like fists beating at my chest, a threatening display. The man I call brother… He has been acting wildly out of character around her.

He likes her. Too much.

A sweet girl, and he is ready to fall from grace. Well, not while I’m alive.

Not with her.

Without another word, I stride to the door and return to the room, unwilling to leave a pure little flower alone with a starved man.

ChapterTwenty-Four

Dahlia

I sleep through the night, vaguely aware of Lagos coming and going from the room, his dark outline crossing the space only to leave again, but never for long.

Tomar tends to Spero, and I let him. Guilt is ever present, but in the end, exhaustion wins.

Between slumber and wakefulness, at some point during first-light, I am somewhat aware of a conversation.

Lagos saying, “She needs more sleep. She’s still healing.”

Tomar agrees, but says, “There is a doctor at the Common Community. If we can just get her there, he will help her recover.”

“Fine. I’ve fuelled up, and unloaded the crate for our stay, so I’ve made room in the back seat for her and the Shadow bab?—”

“Spero,” Tomar corrects. “So she won’t be in your lap this time, brother?”

It is all a hazy montage of shuffling and voices as I dip in and out of sleep. Never moving or fully opening my eyes because every time I do, I relive the kiss, the dark promises, and the moment he left—again.

When I finally get up, we hit the road straightaway, leaving that littlebitof me behind forever. The place of my first kiss.

Goodbye, roadhouse.

One little death.

Right now, the truck throttles down the long desert road, the Redwind and mist-covered sun clashing around us like a wildfire. I blink out the passenger window and thoughts cascade in. Fester.

Why did he leave?

Am I a bad kisser?

I tell myself—chant, even—that none of this is about us, it is about Spero. My new Purpose.

Spero is my priority.

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