Page 49 of The Knight

"Of course I didn't. I was thinking all wrong—what I thought was love was just attraction. Cole made that clear to me." He frowns at me, and as I grab my backpack and put the laptop back in it, he takes my wrist in the circle of his thumb and forefinger, holding me back. "I thought you'd be relieved. You don't want me to fall in love with you."

The way he says it, so plainly, I find that I can't disagree. But for some reason I can't reconcile the boy in front of me, the obvious arousal in his pants and the coarse words, eager to get me over with and move on, with the boy who waited for me on the side of a busy road, worry in his eyes.

They barely seem like the same person.

I didn't realize until now that I wanted that boy on the side of the road. That my heart aches for him. The one standing in front of me isn't nearly a substitute—even when he is down on his knees.

"I'll testify." Yanking my hand away from his, I pull my jacket over my shoulders and throw my backpack on. "But I don't want to ever be alone with you in a room again. Not after this. Notlikethis, either. You and Cole can play your games without me. I have more important things to do, like trying to stay alive."

Blake looks stunned, and as I walk away I feel his eyes on me.

He doesn't follow.

* * *

Georgia's car is an impossibly bright hot shade of pink that must have been custom. It's a Tesla, shockingly earth conscious but still wildly expensive, complete with the screen up front and an automatic driving mode that she probably uses all the time.

Leaning up against the hood, she watches me walk towards her, and frowns in my direction. "Couldn't you have worn something a little nicer than that?"

I stare at her clothes, which are undoubtedly designer, then compare them to my uniform. She makes me look shabby—which is ridiculous because, as I tell her, "We're going to the police station, not a fashion show."

"Still. This is public. We'll be seen together."

"Just get in the car and drive, Georgia."

"Fine!" She throws up her hands at me. "God forbid you improve yourself a little. Excuse me for wanting to be a positive force in your life."

I ignore her words, biting down on a million retorts. If I'm going to get through this and make it to the other side, I need to get used to Georgia's eccentricities—or, to be more accurate, her absolute bullshit.

"I took photos of the bruises last night when they were at their worst," she says as I slide into the car, pulling up a slideshow of her camera roll on the dashboard screen. "Look at this. It's fucking gnarly. Took me five layers of yellow concealer to cancel it out." Frowning, she looks at her reflection in the rearview mirror and realizes aloud, "Oh my god, they'll probably take my makeup off at the station. Then I'll have togo homelike that."

Because apparently it needs to be said, I point out, "No one you know will be at the police precinct."

"Oh. Right." Her facial expression changes. "Well, let's do this then." She turns over the engine and fiddles with the buttons on the dashboard screen until pop music blares from the car speakers. "I pick the music—I'm not listening to your sad playlist. You probably don't pay for no commercials."

"Fine by me."

I let my mind wander as she drives towards the Great Falls Police Department, thinking, inevitably, of Blake. Some part of me wonders if I should've just gone through with it. Maybe that was the best chance I'll get to lose my virginity to someone who's handsome and attractive, obviously into me, and capable of doing more than just fumbling around and shoving it in.

But it didn't sit right with me that the version of Blake I got wasn't the one I wanted. Besides, I can't go back to him now—that'll just look pathetic. I have to live with my decision.

Even though I'll be thinking of that kiss, and whatdidn'tfollow, for days, maybe even weeks. No one has ever touched me like that before. It might be a while before anyone else even wants to. I just have to hope the next person to come along doesn't want to just "get it over with" like it's some sort of terrible task to check off a to-do list.

Before I know it we're outside the precinct. Then I'm walking in with Georgia, who complains and makes me walk one step behind her. Soon enough we're at the front desk, telling them what we're here for.

An officer comes out to meet with us.

Then a detective. One who seems very interested in hearing about crimes the Von Hassells may have been up to.

"Take it from the top," he tells me. "I want to know more about the girls you saw. Tell me about the men, too—what did they look like, and do you think they were related to the men who took you last December?"

I tell him every detail, well-acquainted with this process by now.

And I try not to think what will happen if the Syndicate decides I should die for this.

Chapter 21

Two Days Later

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