Page 45 of A Taste of Torment
I blink rapidly. His voice holds such conviction. He means it. Believes it. He doesn’t care about perception at all. He only cares what I want. What a strange revelation.
I shake my head and step back from his hold. Uncertainty twists through my mind.
“Tell me what you want, Candice.”
“What do you have to show me?”
He glances at the door then back down. “The autopsy.”
My chest is so tight, my next breath is painful.
I obviously can’t read that out in public. Maybe I shouldn’t read it in front of him either, though. I squeeze my eyes shut, and soon, I find myself sucking in panicked breaths.
He steps closer, but this time, he does not touch me. “Tell me what you need, Candice. I’ll make it happen.”
I resist a groan of frustration but then solidify my determination. “Let’s go inside.”
21
I’m Really More of a Taylor Swift Kinda Girl
Jarron pushesopen the doors and then waits for me to enter. My chest is still tight as I step over the threshold.
My vision adjusts quickly to the darkness, allowing me to take in the massive room. This is not a dorm bedroom like mine. This is an apartment.
Two shiny black doors line the left wall. I’m not sure where they lead, but I’d guess at least one is a closet. There is a set of tinted glass doors on the back wall, which leads to a large, shaded balcony.
The rest of the room is massive. A four-poster bed with a black silk canopy over top is pressed against the right wall. There’s a pile of books and papers covering the ground in the far corner that I lift a brow to.
The left corner has a wet bar and table with chairs and a vast selection of liquids I’d bet are not generally legal for minors. Not that demons have such laws. In the other corner is a fireplace surrounded by shelves of books and knickknacks. There is so much space between areas they each feel like separate rooms.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.
Jarron chuckles darkly. “I know.”
I walk forward to peer out the glass doors. The patio is covered in gorgeous black tiles, dozens of cushioned chairs, and a fire pit. “Looks like the perfect spot for a party.”
“I don’t do much entertaining. To be honest, I don’t like people much.”
I laugh at that. “We have that in common.” I turn back to him. “Isn’t it expected, though? Flaunt your wealth and power to those below you.”
He gives me a half-grin. “Most of the Elite’s assumes I do and they’re just not invited. They don’t bring it up because they don’t want to showcase that they’re not in enough to know about my parties.”
I snort.
“What’s with this?” I ask, nodding to the random pile of books and papers scattered in the corner.
He shrugs, hands in his pockets, and his gaze settles firmly on me. “I’m not a very tidy prince.”
“Everything else is pretty pristine.”
“Cleaners come in three times a day to pick up after me unless I turn them away. It took weeks of training to get them to leave my one corner of chaos be.”
Amusement warms my chest. I sit on the ground next to the mess. Somehow, this makes me feel more comfortable. A reminder that Jarron is still human-ish. I run my fingers over the leather covers of the books and debate picking up his scattered handwritten notes.
Jarron sits on the edge of his bed, just watching me.
“Anything private in here?” I ask.
