Page 64 of Root

“She’s not his weakness, she’s his strength and if anything happens to her he’ll destroy everyone related to those involved. I’ll help him. So will half this town. Rose is powerful now, Nikolai taught her well, but people love her.”

“This place is impossible to get into, anyway.”

“She’s not trapped here,” he mutters. “But…she can look after herself. Nikolai, too.”

“But—”

“As I said, he’ll destroy the world in her name. it’ll be war and that’s a war no one wants. And if they try to take Nikolai, Rose will torture them.” He pauses. Looks at me. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not doing anything. I’m bringing the danger. You told me to come here. I want…I want to make sure everyone’s okay.”

The lie tastes like ash on my tongue.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I don’t know if you’re angling to get out again, or if you think you’ll bring destruction down. I’m saying you’re safer here and you’re not bringing anything down.”

“Rush…” I stop.

I’m not sure what I’m going to say. I can’t tell him the truth. And while I’m not entirely sure how he tied all that up in a pretty bow for me, I use it.

“I’ll do my best not to worry, okay,” I say, “but it’s a natural state.”

“Goes more with goth than punk. Up your game, Jessie.” He comes over and leans in. “You’re safe here.”

Then, he goes back to his side. I’m about to slide the cancelers on when he speaks again.

“Let’s play strip shooting.”

I turn. “I don’t think there’s a thing called strip shooting.”

“There is. I just made it up.”

I raise a brow. “And how does that work?”

“Well…” Rush dips his blond head. “Stripping has a logical conclusion.”

“Nakedness?”

“Sex. Let’s make it interesting.” He raises his head and glances at me and the cold turns to fire. “Sex is a given. So…you win, you get to shoot me.”

I jerk. “I get to shoot you? Why?”

“You said you wanted to. Call it all your Christmases coming early.”

Or hell in a special handbasket sent straight to his cousin. “If I lose?”

There’s a small flashing smile. “If I win, I get your ass and your submission.”

“I don’t submit.”

“But you hand your pretty ass out? Good to know.”

Maybe I should shoot him now. “You know I don’t.”

“The rules,” he says, ignoring me, “are an item of clothing per missed shot.”

“Easy.”

“Shoes and socks don’t count. Or belts, or jewelry.”

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