Page 39 of Reckless
Eyes follow us up the stairs and into the world above the cellar. The streets are dark with the dead of night, and a warm breeze whips at my unbound hair. I fight the sigh that threatens to slip past my lips at the feel of wind kissing my scalp.
This is the freest I’ve felt in days.
A rough tug on my arm has my unfortunate reality resuming.
I’m not free at all.
“This way, Little Psychic. No time for a moonlit stroll tonight.”
I bristle at the mocking title. “So, what’s the plan?”
He throws a bemused look over his shoulder while tugging me down a narrow street. “You know, I try not to make a habit of informing criminals of my plans.”
I snort at that. “You know damn well I was a criminal long before that final Trial. And yet”—I smile slyly at his tense shoulders—“I seem to remember you informing me of much more than just yourplans.”
I knew you. Knew your past, your present—and your future that we were foolish enough to think I’d be a part of.
He turns, forcing me to skid to a stop before my face meets his chest. “I know.” His voice is soft, sorrowful in a way that makes me squirm. “And I’m trying not to make a habit of repeating the same mistakes.”
Mistakes.
The seemingly simple word is like a slap to the face, no matter how fitting it is. Because that’s exactly what it all was—a mistake. Every shred of ourselves shared in silent looks and whispered stories under willow trees only contributed to the slow death that was us. And now we can add the rooftop to that ever-growing list of mistakes.
We were inevitably imperfect for each other.
“Come on,” he urges, all but dragging me down the street. “You can pick up the pace, even with that sloppy footwork of yours.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so sloppy if you’d let me keep my feet on the ground,” I shoot back at him, stumbling when he pulls me around a crumbling corner.
“Would you rather I throw you over my shoulder? It’s not as though I haven’t done it before.”
“No, I wouldn’t—”
I skid to a stop midsentence, midplotting, before planting my feet as best I can against his persistent pulling.
Maybe I would rather he throw me over his shoulder.
“I’m not budging until you tell me what’s going on,” I say simply.
He turns slowly, amusement hidden among the annoyance tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is that so?”
I yank at my wrist still grasped in his unyielding grip. “It is. So I suggest you save us both some time and fill me in on my fate.”
He chuckles darkly. “Aren’t you entitled for a criminal.”
“And aren’t you righteous for being no better?”
We stare at each other, still connected by his rough hand encircling my own. Our unspoken sins seem to stretch between us, swallowing the insignificant words burning in my throat. We are one and the same, this Enforcer and me. Both numb, both burdened, both covered in the blood of each other’s fathers.
An Elite and Ordinary have never seemed so similar.
His next words are delicately dangerous in that devastating way of his. “Everything I’ve done has been for the king, and you’re the one who killed him, not me.”
“I killed a father,” I say, stepping closer to him. “And so did you.”
His brows crinkle, confusion creased between them. “What are you—”
His grip has loosened, his guard has fallen, and I don’t think twice before taking advantage of his distraction. In one swift movement, I twist so my back is against his chest and hook my free arm under his shoulder. With a combination of momentum and his sheer shock, I have him suddenly flipping over my shoulder.
