Page 120 of Silver Elite

Cross glances at my knife. “Am I going to need to confiscate that?”

“You had your chance. Now you have to fight me for it.”

He sighs. Raking a hand through his hair, he slides off the bed and gets to his feet.

I avert my gaze when I realize his pants are undone. He zips them up, but rather than button his shirt, he peels it off his shoulders and tosses it on the tousled bedsheets.

I want to spend the next hour examining his tattoos and running my hands all over them. Ask him what they mean.Ifthey mean anything. Maybe he just likes intricate wings and flames with cryptic lines of text snaking through them.

“Why are you in my bedroom, Dove?”

“Because you’re sabotaging my chances of passing the Program.”

To my surprise, he throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. You’ve been sabotaging your own chances since the beginning.”

“And now I’m doing better.” I jut out my chin.

“Yes. Why is that?”

I knew he’d be suspicious. That’s fine. I’m prepared for this.

“I have nothing to go back to.”

The grim confession, spoken in my flat, discouraged tone, hangs in the air between us.

Cross eyes me for a moment before leaving the room and striding toward the kitchen. I trail after him, watching as he opens a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Another cupboard produces two glasses. He sets one down, then gestures to the other one with a questioning look.

I nod, even though I know it’s a bad idea. I shouldn’t be sharing a drink with him.

He pours. The dark liquid sloshes against the brim as he slides the glass across the counter toward me.

I pick it up, and he watches my lips as I take a tentative sip.

“You gave away my ranch.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to let me return to Z.”

“No.”

“What happens if you send me to the Tribunal instead of the stockade?”

He considers the question. “There’s not much evidence you were in collusion with your guardian, so they’d likely give you a labor sentence. Best case, a factory assignment.”

“Not interested.” I shake my head and take another sip. The alcohol burns my throat on its way down.

“You weren’t interested in joining the Command, either.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m stubborn.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

I fall silent for a moment, studying his flawless features, the strong lines of his throat as he tips his head back to drink his whiskey. I’m trying very hard not to stare at his bare chest, and I’m grateful for the counter acting as a barrier between us.

Every time I’m in this guy’s presence, I forget that I’m not allowed to be attracted to him. I keep waiting for it to go away. For me to be in the same room as Cross and not feel this magnetic pull toward him.

The fact that it seems to be entirely one-sided makes it all the more aggravating. I can’t use his behavior at pit night as evidence of desire for me, because I’m not convinced it was. He was drunk. Men say ludicrous things when they’re drunk, and any random person might seem attractive to them when alcohol’s fueling their libido.

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