Page 49 of Cold Hard Truth

It reminds me of when I was a teenager, and he was still pretending he saw me as his sister. Like we don’t have a past, and it means nothing for him to see me after all this time.

Maybe it doesn’t. And that thought takes a bite out of me.

“Maybe I’ll just run again the second you turn your back.” I step forward, not stopping until I’m directly in front of him. “How do you think Kane will feel if I get away from you twice?”

Now I’m trying to piss him off, and I can’t help it. It’s either that or I’ll stand here focusing on the fact that we’re alone and all I can think about is how he still smells like leather, even without his cut. How his hair is shorter, but messier than it used to be. How his T-shirt hugs tattooed muscle, and it’s distracting when I’m not going down that road again.

I expect Sage to get angry because irritating him is easier than facing my feelings. But he surprises me by looking amused instead. Sage leans in, so close I get a hit of motor oil and pine trees.

“I already learned that lesson. You won’t get away from me this time, butterfly.”

“Says who?”

But instead of answering with words, his gaze drops to my neck—and suddenly I feel it.

Reaching for my throat, I run my fingers over a half-inch leather choker secured around my neck.

“What is this?” I tug on it, but it barely pulls a quarter inch away from my skin.

“Insurance.” He dips his finger under the band of the choker and pulls me close. “Run all you want, but I’ll find you, Lyla. And I’ll drag you back here when I do. I gave it all up for you once. That’s not happening again.”

He releases me, taking a step back.

“And there’s no use trying to take it off.” He narrows his gaze. “I’m the only one with the key. It stays on until Kane says otherwise.”

Scratching at my throat, it swells with my nerves. I search for a clasp, but there’s no use. He’s sick. He’s twisted. He’s tracking me.

Sage really has changed.

“What happened to you?”

He skims me up and down with his lethal obsidian eyes. “I grew up.”

Turning, he makes his way through the stalls, not waiting to see if I follow because he knows I will.

I’m not staying a second longer in a place where the Twisted Kings murder people—not to mention, that’s probably not the worst they do here.

He keeps pace ahead of me, but even with the gap, his presence is a physical being.

Sage is a storm. He's a change in the air, subtle enough that if you aren’t familiar with chaos, you won’t sense him on the horizon. But I do.I feel him—impending destruction.

Rain out for purging with no mercy for what it washes away.

He glances over his shoulder, and he’s thunder in early morning. I should run. I should take cover. And yet, like I can't help myself, I just want to stand in the rain.

Sage drives me back to Twisted Roses, leading me to the staircase that climbs the side of the building.

“You still live up here?” I ask as he waits for me to walk ahead of him up the staircase.

The moment the gate latches behind us, I feel him close in. It could be the darkness, or it could just be his presence. But in this hidden corner in LA, Sage is close, and I’m flooded with reminders of how good it feels being around him.

“Yep,” Sage says, reaching around me to unlock the door and waiting for me to walk through.

He flicks on the light the moment we enter, and it takes me by surprise. For all the times I stopped by the shop, I’d never been up here.

It’s bigger than I expected. The kitchen is open to the living area, and two large couches face a giant television. It’s twice the size of the motel rooms I’m used to. And even if I’ve had an apartment on occasion over the years, they weren’t very nice.

Sage’s apartment is surprisingly decorated. Like the tattoo parlor below us. Gothic art, flowers, and bones on every wall.

---