Page 39 of Twisted Kings

Two eyes snapped open.

“Milo. What are you doing in my bed?”

“I’m on your bed, not in it.” I fought back a smile.

“In, on, whatever. Why are you here?”

He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at me from behind his glasses. His hair looked tousled like he’d not combed it in days, but his disheveled appearance didn’t detract from his nerdy attractiveness.

A familiar scent of bergamot and pepper tickled my nose. It was how I always knew Milo had been in my room. His scent clung to my sheets long after he’d gone.

“I needed to see you. Make sure you were OK.”

“You could have done that tomorrow,” I pointed out.

“No.” Emotion bled through his words. He was upset. More upset than I’d ever seen him. His eyes burned into mine, scorching a path down my throat and lingering on my chest. “No, I couldn’t wait.”

“Don’t you hate me?”

“Why would I hate you?” He seemed surprised by my question.

“Because I lied to all of you. Pretended to be someone else.”

He lay back down, resting his head on the pillow next to mine. If I reached out, I could touch him, but I kept my hands to myself.

“I knew who you were,” he said. “Dario confirmed it after Torrance Asaro took you off campus.”

“How?” My father went to a lot of trouble erasing everything about me. So far as I knew, there were no records of mine or Verity’s birth, no legal documents, no nothing. My passport bore a false name and was one of three I used to travel on family assignments.

“I found an archived hospital report from when you were a kid. You’d been admitted with a serious infection. A gunshot wound.”

His breath tickled my cheek. Sweet with a hint of mint. I lay still, staring up at the shadow-cloaked ceiling. Outside, the wind howled around the roof and the sea roared, wild, like a savage beast.

“I remember.” My father had refused me medical treatment for nearly a week. It wasn’t until my vital signs started failing that he relented and let Torrance take me to the nearest hospital. It was touch and go for a while. Or so the doctor whispered to a nurse while he thought I slept.

“The report mentioned some of the staff were concerned about your home life.”

“Nobody did anything. Dad paid off anyone who poked their nose into our business. And if they refused to stay quiet, they disappeared.”

“I’m sorry.” He watched as I rolled on to my side and faced him.

“I survived.”

“You did more than that.”Barely.The softer parts of my soul died long ago, leaving only the brittle bones of me behind.

“I’m not a good person, Milo,” I whispered. “I’ve done many bad things.”

“Did you enjoy doing them?” The question was gentle like whatever I said didn’t matter. I wanted to believe he didn’t care if I’d done bad things. Things I wished I could erase from my memory. But Milo wasn’t like Kyril. Whereas Kyril’s hands were as bloody as mine, Milo was softer.Sweeter.

“No.” Every life I’ve taken, even the ones who very much deserved to die, had left a stain on my soul.

“Then none of it matters.”

He shuffled closer so our bodies touched. Part of me wanted to pull back, but I was tired. So fucking tired.

My attic bedroom was light when I woke next. Milo had disappeared, but there was a mug of tepid coffee next to the bed. My head ached as I dragged my aching body into the en-suite shower room, but after a hot shower, I felt marginally better.

The guys and Eden were sitting around a rustic pine table in a huge farmhouse kitchen when I ventured downstairs. I’d not taken much notice of the house when we arrived yesterday, but this morning, as I gazed around at the painted kitchen cabinets, stone floor, and windows overlooking the ocean, I felt the tension ease away.

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