Page 41 of Ruthless Kings of Havoc

“Mercy is earned,” he whispers in agreement. “Just like trust.”

When I lift my eyes to meet his, I seek the lines of deceit. To even catch of glimpse that will prove this is the wrong move for me to make.

I sadly can’t find it.

“So, tell me, Sweet Precious Gem. Have I earned your trust?” He breaks our gaze to lower his eyes to my left thigh. I follow it, smirking because the way my dress has elegantly fallen in place shows the strapped knife along my thigh. “And mercy.”

Whatever lingering doubt I carry fizzles out of existence.

Instead, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of thrill at this new opportunity that has always been waiting for me to claim. All thesigns. The interventions. The various chances this man gave me to find exactly where he hid in the shadows and ask for his aid.

All those times, I knew I could handle the next set of trials in my life alone, but now, I’ve finally hit that crossroads.

To choose to walk this path alone and perish, or to walk in the arms of one who wishes for my victory.

To no longer do this trial alone.

Without another thought, my hand lays in his, and he gently squeezes it.

The warmth and reassurance I need to take this next step forward.

“We meet again, Precious Gem,” he whispers and turns my hand so he can lift it to his lips. Feeling his touch firmly press against the back of my hand forces me to acknowledge two things.

How his touch electrifies me from the inside out.

The very obvious mark on the back of his hand has healed perfectly.

My stare lingers on it.

Long and intense that I don’t realize I’m not breathing until the vocal reminder.

“Breathe, Eva.”

I force my body to do just that, and when our eyes meet again, I can’t hide the glimmer of tears.

“You never give me the privilege to question your loyalty to me.” My voice is as raw and vulnerable as I can allow.He knows it.“I can see why Zander hates you.”

That makes him chuckle as he squeezes my hand.

“If he hates me now, I’m not sure what’s going to happen when school starts.”

“You know what I mean by ‘hate’.”

His smile grows into a cunning grin.

“Yes, Precious,” he whispers. “I’m very aware of this ‘hate’ and the buried meaning of it.”

“Good.” I may be crazy to admit it. “I like sandwiches of late.”

Now he’s showing me those pearly white teeth.

“Guess we should work promptly to appease that craving.”

I take a shaky breath and squeeze his hand back.

“Evangeline Ivanka Prescott,” I introduce myself and lift my head farther up as my eyes grow serious with conviction. “Formally known as Evangeline Ivanka Leighton. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

For a single moment, I allow myself to admire the similarities. The certain traits that flicker from my childhood memories. How similar his facial features are to my enemy. To look into the eyes of your bully’s older sibling is one thing, but to dare envision anything romantic with this individual should be a sin worthy of death.

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