Page 23 of Breaking Isolde
I shake my head. “No.”
Abelard smirks, tossing a pen across the table. “Do you accept the terms, Mr. Grey?”
The only correct answer is yes, but I let the silence stretch. In that space, I feel Isolde’s mouth under mine, the way her whole body fought even as it leaned in. I want it again, I want it always, but part of me wonders if I’m betraying Casey. If she would hate me for it.
Despite her untimely and unfortunate death, I did care about her.
Fortunately, I have very quickly gotten attached to her snooty, nosy little sister much faster than I imagined I would.
I look Abelard in the eye. “I do.”
He slides a pen across the table, ink the same shade as dried blood.
I sign. The tip of the pen bites into the paper, carving my name deeper than necessary.
Julian claps slowly. “Our boy’s all grown up.”
Colton smiles. “She’s not going to make it easy for you.”
“I’d be disappointed if she did.”
Abelard collects the file, tucks it into a drawer, and stands. “Congratulations, Mr. Grey. You are now responsible for the Greenwood line.”
Valence’s smile sharpens. “Try not to waste her, dear. It’s so hard to get good stock these days.”
The guards open the door. Abelard leaves without another word, Ms. Valence trailing behind.
The Feral Boys linger, as we always do. Colton pulls out a flask, takes a drag, passes it to Bam.
Julian leans over. “You look like you want to break something.”
I stare at the blank spot on the table where the contract was. “Just thinking about the next step.”
He nudges my arm. “You going to keep her on a leash, or let her think she’s free?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Julian laughs. “Maybe I’ll come watch.”
Colton tilts his head. “She’s not like Casey.”
“That’s the point,” I say.
Bam stands, stretching to his full, monstrous height. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Grey.”
“I never do,” I say.
He grins, then heads for the door. “Let’s get outta here. This place gives me the fucking creeps.”
Julian lingers at my side. “If you want her scared, do it quick. If you want her loyal, make her bleed.”
I don’t answer.
When the room is empty, I stay at the table, running my thumb over the indentation my pen left in the wood.
Somewhere outside, a bell tolls.
I rise, and the echo of it follows me down the hall.
