Page 86 of Wicked Chains
“I kind of do,” I say, to my own surprise. “If I don’t, I’ll go nuts.”
He shifts so that his thigh is pressed against mine, cold through the denim. “Okay. Talk.”
So I do. I word-vomit everything, starting with the kneeling. The shame. The weird thrill of being protected by Ash, and the even weirder aftermath, where I don’t know who my real enemy is anymore.
Drake doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, nodding sometimes, his thumb tracing absentminded little circles on my knee. He doesn’t argue when I admit the fucked-up parts, the parts I’m most ashamed of. The part where I didn’t want to let go of Ash’s hand, even if I thought he’d let me.
When I finally stop talking, I feel less like a shaken soda bottle about to explode and more like a tired, wet rag. I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep.
“Do you want to be alone?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. Can you just stay?”
He pulls me in, and I tuck myself under his arm, cheek pressed to his chest. He’s cool like a winter wind, and it’s helping me clear my head.
We stay like that until there’s a knock at the door.
I don’t want to answer, but the knock comes again, this time with more force.
“It’s probably Helena,” I grumble. “With a firing squad.”
Drake snorts. “It’s not Helena.”
He’s right. There’s a distinctive, sharp series of raps. It’s Lucien.
I sigh, extricate myself from Drake’s embrace, and open the door.
Lucien is standing there in his three-piece suit, tie loose, hair a little mussed. He looks agitated, which is rare for him.
He steps inside, eyes going immediately to Drake. For a moment, there’s a tension that hangs in the air, an elastic band stretched so far that it’s about to snap. Then Lucien seems to decide it’s not worth it. “Am I interrupting?” Lucien says. His tone is neutral but his eyes flicker between me and Drake.
“Not at all.” I wave him inside.
“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the desk chair.
“Yeah.” I flop onto the bed again, patting the space next to me for Drake, who sits without hesitation.
Lucien watches this, a frown crossing his face before it’s smoothed away. “How are you feeling, Rose?”
“Oh, you know. Mortified. Terrified.”
He gives me a slight smile. “You handled yourself well.”
I snort. “I did not.”
“You didn’t kneel,” he says. “That’s more than most would have managed.”
Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t really feel like much of a win. It feels like I’ve just painted an even bigger target on my back. “Listen. Today was fucked up. But I’m fine and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I point a finger at both of them. “I just want to not be alone.”
“Of course.” He looks at Drake. “You have my gratitude for staying with her.”
Drake’s eyes are serious. “We look out for her, yeah? All of us.”
Lucien nods.
There’s lazy thump on my door, and it opens before I can say anything or stand up to open it myself.
Soren strolls in, hands in his pockets, taking in the scene with me on the bed, Drake beside me, and Lucien perched on the chair.
