Page 52 of Lamb

“Why?” Lamb asked, his voice only curious.

“Because I’m scared.” The truth slipped out from my lips, and I could feel the vulnerability of my soul; the raw tenderness exposed to the cold outside, begging to bury itself deep within, back to where it was safe and where nothing could reach me. I wanted to push him away, to run far from his reach, where I didn’t have to feel so … helpless. “I’m scared that I won’t stop you. That I’ll depend on you. That you’ll crawl your way in, and when you tell me you’ll free me … that I will believe you.”

“You should,” Lamb retorted, tilting my head from where it had tucked into my chest. I looked up, blond hair framing his deep brown eyes. “Trust me, Ash,” Lamb whispered, his hands tracing the edges of my face, lost in the curves of my cheeks and the softness of my lips. “I will make it all disappear. I’ll make you safe. I’ll set you free.”

“I don’t believe you.” I shook my head, seeing his eyes harden. “Not yet.”

A smile quipped on Lamb’s lips, and I could see that spark in his eye, a mix of playful and deceptive. “Shall we make a bet?”

A tingle rushed over my skin, starting from his hands and working its way deep down. His faith was contagious, and I fought to rid it from my soul, but it had crept in, and the little crack he had made widened a smidge more. “I have heard of your corrupt bets.” I shook my head, the motion subdued by Lamb’s hold. “The ones that are impossible to win.”

“Then you’re aware of the terms,” Lamb quipped. “If you are sure I’ll fail, you’ll have no problem agreeing.”

I stared up into his eyes, the dark brown orbs alight with confidence in not only his words but himself. I was not sure whether he was just self-assured or deluded about the task. Freeing me meant going against a man with countries at his back, and the power to kill, and not even a whisper of him appearing in police records or newspapers.

“You are just one man.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes.” Lamb stroked back a strand of my hair, tracing the motion as it tucked behind my ear.

“Fine,” I sighed, knowing he would not give in, and I was not stupid enough to expect him to. Though our time together had not been long, Lamb was as stubborn as a mule. “And if I win?”

“Then I’ll let you go.” His voice was calm, no emotions riding on the few words I had been desperate to hear. But inside, something shrivelled up and wailed. Did I even want to go? It was a dangerous question, one I was not sure I had the answer to. It was a bittersweet reality, and yet, I still could not bring myself to refuse it.

“And if you win?”

“Marry me.”

I nearly threw myself across the room. A laugh of shock bubbled out of my chest. I clung to his arm, suffering through the surprise, nearly tearing up at his words. “You are kidding,” I scoffed.

Lamb was everything but. He shook his head, eyes locked on mine. “Not at all.”

“It is absurd.” The laughter stopped, and the humour cooled in my chest. “There is no benefit to marrying me. You know best what happens to people who get too close to me.”

“I’m not afraid of your father,” the imbecile countered, missing the point entirely.

“You do not see it.” I grabbed his arm tighter now, willing my words into his body. “It is not just my father. All my life, anyone associated with me has suffered because of it. Even if my father was gone, even if all my problems ceased to exist, there would always be something. Something to tear down those who choose to be with me.”

“Is that why you ran away? From the club? From Anna?”

Lamb’s abrupt question cut through my soul. I had not been ready for it, nor prepared to even hear her name. The name I hadnot heard for months. The name I had not dared let pass my lips. But Lamb was not finished.

“You ran away because you were worried something would happen to her,” Lamb pushed, and those ice-cold walls rose again. With all their ridges and cracks, they towered higher and pushed me deeper. “She has a life now. A family. A son. Were you worried something would happen if you stuck around? That’s why you left?”

“Get off me,” I whispered, wriggling to break free of his grip. He tried to hold me still, but that just made me resist stronger. “I said get off,” I hissed, and Lamb let go. His grip lurched from my skin, pulling his body back, hands raised by his side.

I did not care what expression he looked at me with. Did not care what he thought. I just jumped from the sofa, my feet hitting the floor and rushing across the tile, not stopping until I was upstairs, behind the safety of the bedroom door. The room felt colder than ever as I let the darkness envelop me.

I was not ready for that conversation.

I probably never would be.

Chapter Fifteen

LAMB

Persuasion was an art form.

There was a time for pushing, and a time for pulling.

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