Page 47 of Martyr
All this, and he’s still on their fucking side. The side that wants to destroy and take over my city. The insidious, invading, murdering side.
“Then why are you still playing the villain?” I shout. “Why cling to the role like it makes any of this noble?”
“Because it’s easier than hoping for forgiveness I’ll never deserve.” His voice is hollow.
Hope is destructive.
Hope is dangerous.
I know that, just as well as anyone else. But would I chose evil overhope?
“That’s the difference between us, Kade,” I say quietly. “I’d never sell someone out just to make myself feel better.”
He looks away, his cheeks pinkening. “Yeah. I know.”
I sigh. This is not how I wanted the conversation to go. He turns away, back to the job at hand, but stops when I call his name.
“By the way, your sister is awake.”
I was right—Kadebolted for Lyssa as soon as the words registered. I, by contrast, actually get a moment to breathe and enjoy the empty cabin. How long has it been since I’ve beenalone? Like, truly? Stolen nights in my apartment at Bow & Arrow don’t necessarily count.
I take a hot shower, and even the gross two-in-one shampoo and conditioner can’t dampen how good the water feels.
Dressed in oversized clothes that smell distinctly like Kade’s citrus scent, I finger-comb my hair and wrap it in a towel, then go back to his room and flop on the bed.
Considering Kade…
He clearly cares about his sister. He bought this cabin to be near her, even though she was unconscious for a decade. He fixed it up enough to be a decent place to stay.
And his loyalty to Reese is undeniable.
I screw my eyes shut tighter, not liking that train of thought. Can Iblamehim for saving Reese? Not really. I would’ve given Kade up to save Saint, and I don’t even particularly like Saint.
That’s a lie.
I really, really,reallydon’t like Saint.
For some reason, that thought brings a smile to my lips.
And in the next second, I’m crying.
Becausefuck Saint Hart. Fuck his stupid memory loss, and blaming me for being the bearer of bad news, and?—
The front door creaks upon opening, and I sit up sharply. I dash the tears from my face and pull the towel from my head. My wet hair tumbles over my shoulders. Hopefully all the telltale signs of crying—red face, bloodshot and puffy eyes—will be overlooked.
Then again, I only cried for thirty seconds before getting interrupted.
Shaking it off, I exit the room and find Reese and Saint in the kitchen, unloading bags on the counter.
Saint glances up first, and the corner of his lips curl up. The almost-smile is immediately replaced by a scowl, and I roll my eyes. Trust him to be so pigheaded it hurts.
Reese, however, leaves what he’s doing and envelops me in a hug. I let him fold me into his chest, the chill of winter still clinging to his jacket. I tip my head back, and he gives me exactly what I want: a kiss.
A soft peck. Nothing that should fire me up, but it does. The urge to jump his bones hits me hard, and I clutch harder at his jacket.
Calm down, Tem. Now’s not the time. I separate myself from him, retreating to the far side of the kitchen. I rest my hip on the counter and cross my arms.
“Lyssa is awake,” I inform them both.
