Page 127 of Reckless
I shake my head at him, hating the way I’m shrinking away. “It’s nothing.”
“Then let me see,” he says, deceptively calm.
He reaches a hand toward me, and I don’t think before blocking it with my forearm.
His eyes fly up to mine. A heartbeat passes. “What was that?”
“That,” I say coolly, “was a block. Would you like me to demonstrate a punch?”
He chuckles humorlessly. “You can’t be serious.”
“Try me.”
He shakes his head, bewilderment painting his features. When he reaches again for the sleeve of my shirt, I push his hand down before sending my free fist flying toward his stomach.
He blocks it easily, slowly letting his eyes climb up to mine. “Are you really trying to fight me right now?”
“Depends on whether or not you’re going to keep your hands to yourself,” I say, hiking my sleeve up farther.
His eyes flick between mine, his words a whisper. “What did he do to you?”
That question has every bit of pent-up rage rushing to the surface in the form of a swift punch to his jaw. I barely manage to nick the side of his face with my knuckle before he dodges.
We are both on our knees now, breathing hard.
“Hey,” he pants. “I just want to know what happened—”
Another punch to his stomach, followed by one to his jaw that I manage to land. When I pull back for another, he grabs my wrist before I can do any more damage.
“I’m not going to fight you,” he says sternly. “I won’t.”
Frustration tears from my throat, sounding like a growl. I push his chest with my free hand, hard enough to have him tilting back on his knees. Slamming my body against his, I send us toppling over poppies and onto the ground.
I’m straddling him, panting down at the worry he’s wearing. “Why won’t you fight me?” My voice cracks, tears suddenly crowding my vision.
“Because the next time I lay a hand on you, I only ever want it to be in a caress,” he says softly.
I duck my head, squeezing my eyes shut against the flood of emotion there. I feel a calloused hand on my cheek and shake my head at the comfort I don’t deserve. “Please,” he whispers. “Show me.”
I let out a shaky breath, opening my eyes to the gray ones already looking at me. Then I slowly climb off him as he sits up, swallowing my pride to gently pull the layers of clothing from my shoulder.
A cool breeze kisses my collarbone, as if to offer its sympathy. I haven’t felt the sticky air on my skin since the king sliced me open outside the Bowl.
Kai’s expression doesn’t waver, as though he slipped on a blank mask. There’s a crack, though. There always is. I catch the muscle that twitches in his cheek, the flex of his hands. “How did he do it?”
I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat. “A sword.”
He sighs through his nose.
“After he dragged the blade down my neck,” I continue, lifting my chin so he can see the familiar scar in the pale light, “he told me he’d leave his mark on my heart, so I never forget who it was that broke it.”
He inches closer, eyes trained on the mangled skin beginning to scar. His voice is icy, sending a shiver down my spine. “It’s anO.”
I nod. “For—”
“Ordinary,” he finishes, disgusted. “He tortured you, and you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Would it have made a difference?” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “That doesn’t make me any less of a criminal.”
