Page 137 of Tempest

“P-please,” he begs hoarsely. His brown eyes stare into mine. “I have a family now. Children. I’m a changed man.”

“Is one of them a girl?” I ask, my lips scarcely moving.

“Yes.” His answer comes out as a sob.

“How old is she?”

“E-eleven.”

“Do you know what I was doing at eleven years old?” I fold my hands in front of me. “Sleeping under my bed. Eating under it. Scratching and biting anyone who came near me. Every time my mother wanted to bathe me, they had to sedate me. A nurse would grab my ankle and drag me out from under, stabbing a needle into my arm until I stopped fighting. My parents would stand by and watch, my dad not able to stand it, my mother falling to her knees and sobbing. You did that to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears roll down his cheeks. “It was wrong of me. To imagine my baby girl going through that—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I worry my cheek, staring at him. It would be so easy to give Tempest the nod, to watch them all burn where they sit and feel better about myself, knowing these men aren’t out there haunting my every step anymore.

But then I think of Mila. What happened to her wasn’t due to these men. Tempest took an order and morphed it into his own vendetta, to sacrifice her in order to save me. Here, he wants to do it again.

I like to think I’ve learned and lived through more than the average nineteen-year-old. Having that knowledge comes with a duty to use it, and if I don’t consider my next decisions wisely, then what the hell was the point of living through death and struggles and sickness if I’m just like the rest of them?

If it was wrong with Mila, it is wrong now.

I turn to Tempest. Move in front of him. Rest my hands on his shoulders. “No.”

He cocks his head, his eyes slitting. “No?”

“I don’t want this. More suffering. It’s not going to grant me my childhood back, and it won’t gain you any favor in a life you’re already fighting for survival in. It’s not worth it.”

“They marked you. Scarred your mind. Blackened your soul. All of that gives me ample permission to tear them to pieces and scatter them across the burned ashes of their homes.”

“You hurt me, too.”

That gives him pause.

“I’m starting to understand you, Tempest, as much as I fought against it. You equate pain with love, don’t you? I’d like to show you that the two don’t have to go together. I can love you and not require torture, at someone else’s expense or at mine. I can touch you like this…” I lay a hand on his cheek, scratchy with day-old scruff. “And leave it at that. No pinch, no slap, no unkind words. Just this. A gentle touch.”

Tempest’s brows crash together, his eyes searching mine. He wars inside his head, coming to terms with the cease-fire I’m requesting. He doesn’t flinch away from my hand or slap it away. He turns immobile, his lips parting in shock, or question, or both.

The corners of my lips pull up. Tempest has no idea what to do with himself.

“Tempest, I love you. Since you were a boy, and then a bully, and even as the man you’ve become. I don’t love what you do—I’m not sure how I’ll ever wrap my head around it—but I do know the prospect of living without you, well…” I glance over my shoulder to include my captors. “…I’d want to tear anyone who comes between us to pieces and burn down their homes, too.”

Tempest catches my wrist, and my gaze shoots back to him.

“I’m not a good man. I can’t stop what I do. There’s a plan. Rio and I have a plan, and I can’t take your hand and walk off into the sunset.”

I nod, keeping my expression soft.

His tightens. “I’ve become a demonic version of the boy you first met. I’m nowhere close to the prep school kid playing around with secret societies that you tried to catch glimpses of at our summer homes. And I … I can’t change anymore, princess. I’m so fucking tired.”

“I’m not asking you to change.”

“Then what do you want? You must require something to accept this much of me without blinking an eye.”

“I want you to love me,” I say honestly. “And I want you to listen to me. To take my opinions into account whenever you are thinking of doing something … controversial. Like Mila.”

One of his eyes tics. The mention of her name still affects him.

“I don’t want to be put in that position ever again,” I continue. “I mean it. Don’t blindfold me. If your plans with Rio affect Clover and me, then we deserve to be made aware of it before anyone has to get hurt. Or killed.”

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