Page 77 of A Touch of Dark
I close my eyes as the memory threatens to unfold. For the first time in so damn long, I don’t resist it. Iletmyself see the forest. Smell the blood. I can taste the fear, so thick and real…
“He made me pick which one of us would live or die. My rich, pretty, popular friend or me, the poor, pathetic pauper? And I…”
“You don’t need to tell me this,” he says. His accent dips in an unfamiliar way. Horror? Disgust?
Confused, I look up and find his jaw clenched, his posture tense. Men like him don’t like to get their hands dirty after all. Not even figuratively.
But I can’t stop.
“I-I pickedme. I picked me,” I repeat, choking out the secret I’ve suffocated on all this time. “I wasn’t important. I wouldn’t be missed. Hetoldme. And he stabbed Leslie anyway! He…he stabbed—”
“Enough.”
“He killed her,” I whisper in defiance. “And he’s hunted me everywhere I’ve gone ever since. So that I will never forget. My life is worthless.…”
And all along, Heyworth Thorne might have known his identity. Yet I wasn’t worth bringing that monster to justice. I wasn’t worth justice.
“You win, I guess,” I quip, laughing at the irony. “I never want to see Heyworth Thorne again. Does that make you happy?”
“You still sound weak,” Damien says, ignoring my question entirely.
I look beyond the windows and realize his driver has pulled up before the private entrance of the Lariat. There are no reporters lying in wait, surprisingly. Through his doing, I suspect.
“You need sleep—”
“Don’t pretend like you care.” My hand shakes as I wrestle for the door handle. “After all, this is what you wanted. To see the look on my father’s face as my world fell apart—”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
Damn him. He should be gloating. Smirking. Smug. But the stern tone of his voice robs me of my anger and all I can do is follow meekly as he takes the lead and escorts me inside.
His face reveals nothing once he’s herded me into the elevator and we ascend to my suite. As we cross the threshold, guilt and gratitude feed off the potency of my fatigue. Only one thing can combat both: control.
“Fine,” I hiss as he steers me into my bedroom. “We can play this game so that you can end this charade that you give a damn.” In all honesty, the bastard’s left me no choice after today. I have just one thing to leverage against him. “I’ll agree. I’ll do it.”
He grabs my arm and pushes me firmly toward the mattress. “Do what?”
I climb beneath the sheets while he lurks there in utter silence. He’s right: I’m exhausted. All at once, the gravity of everything slams down like a hammer. Delirium sets in, skewing my priorities. Heyworth Thorne and Simon are a million miles away. As my head sinks against my pillow, I watch him. His jaw has never looked so comparable to steel before. I bet he could crush diamonds with the weight of his scowl alone.
“Sleep with you,” I say. “Now you can hold something over my father’s head, like you’ve dreamed—”
“You’re delirious,” he says with obvious restraint.Therefore, I’ll ignore the fact that you’re mocking me.
“I’m serious.” Am I? Maybe. The thoughts in my head all feel slurred and run together, but oddly enough, one seems startlingly clear. “I’ll let you have my virginity.”
He frowns and starts for the door. “Get some rest, Ms. Thorne.”
“In exchange—”
His footsteps falter.
“I want you to…”
“Yes?”
The grated word makes me realize that I’ve trailed off, lost in my thoughts. I want more from Damien than a smart woman should. Small things. Stupid things. Tiny, inconsequential things that suddenly appeal to me more than any couture gown or high-rise apartment would. Maybe because I know deep down he’ll never let me have them.
“I want you to find out who Simon is. I…I want justice.” That elusive thing Heyworth Thorne spent his entire life promising to deliver. “Is that a fair enough trade?”
