Page 64 of Ignite
“This should be reversed,” I say weakly.
“What, I’m not allowed to pet you?” Ezra muses, rustling my hair.
“I feel selfish letting you do it.”
His body stiffens beneath me. “Okay, something is really wrong with you tonight. I don’t think I can sit here and continue this if you don’t talk to me.”
I take his hand and bring it to my mouth, pressing a kiss to the scars on his wrist.
“Alaric got into the hard drive. There were… pictures. Old records of kids trafficked. Pictures of… you.”
Ezra’s fingers tighten around the strands of my hair. I want him to hurt me. Want him to scream and claw and lose his cool.
His voice is terrifyingly calm when he finally speaks. “It’s in the past.”
“Ezra.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I got out. I’m here now. I’m learning how to save others. That’s enough for me. You’re enough for me.”
I close my eyes and practice slow breaths.
“Cain. Please don’t make this a thing. I can’t have it being a thing.” His words are strained. “Do you understand? I need you to keep looking at me. Need you to keep touching me. Grounding me. You take all ofthat away because of something that feels like another fucking lifetime to me, and I might actually fall apart.”
I feel his tears dropping on my head. Clutching his thigh, I give it a couple squeezes. If I look at him right now, I know I’ll fucking dissolve.
“Okay,” I whisper, closing my eyes as exhaustion sinks. “Just know, Leo didnothingto deserve what happened to him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EZRA
Irest my head back on the couch, hot tears streaming from my eyes as Cain sleeps on my lap, and the world falls horribly silent.
Pictures of you,Cain’s voice echoes in my head.
It’s revolting, the whole idea of trafficking. That an entire ring exists here in this city. I thought I was an anomaly, but my time at Sinro has proven that to be a fallacy. I was so wrapped up in myself, scraping through life that first year after my escape, that it hadn’t occurred to me there might be other kids suffering.
It just gives greater weight to what I’m doing here, training to hopefully save them from monsters.
Beneath that intense desire to become something powerful, I’m angry. So fucking angry that Cain saw me that way. I don’t want this to change how he handles me. How could he not think I’m defiled? Tainted?
Broken. Broken. Broken.
I hold back a groan. I’d done well to keep it all shoved down. The panic, yeah, that’s always fighting to break free, and sometimes it does. A lingering side effect of the torture I endured.
I extract myself from Cain on the couch, careful not to let his head plop on the cushion. Then I’m scavenging the kitchen for something sharp to bleed out this awful, sick feeling roiling in my chest.
“Ezra?”
My brain doesn’t register Cain’s words, only my actions as I yank open drawers. I upheave silverware in search of a knife. I rip pots and pans out of cabinets, hurling them onto the concrete floor. Why does he have so much shit to cook with?
“Ezra. Baby. What’s wrong?” Cain demands, pushing off the couch into view.
Everything!Everything’s fucking wrong!
I find a knife and press it against the inside of my forearm, lining it up between pearlescent scars. Cain’s dark eyes flick to the blade. Fear carves into his normally harsh features, and my heart drops in my chest. Why is he so twisted up over this? Why does he care?
“Ezra. Stop.”
