Page 100 of The Stolen Princess
“For a moment, you almost had me believing that you actually cared,” she said.
His expression faltered. “I do care.”
“You can stop pretending now.”
“I’m not pretending.”
She stared back at him expectantly. Drake didn’t know what else to say. He had been a complete jerk, and he wished he could take it all back.
Myka
Myka turned awayfrom Drake. She couldn’t look at his pleading eyes any longer. He wasn’t someone she could trust. He was the enemy, the kind of person who had made a bet at her expense. All this time she had believed him. She had turned against her father for him. How could she have done that? Her father was dead. He had died without her there, and it was all Drake’s fault. Something inside of her snapped. She hated Drake now more than ever, and she wouldn’t let him get the best of her.
“Please, Myka.” His voice was soft. “Please believe that I care about you, that the bet didn’t mean anything.”
She turned around, leveling him with her hard gaze. “I don’t care about the bet. I was using YOU. Do you really think I would develop feelings for my kidnapper?” His eyes blinked with hurt, but she ignored it. She was doing this for her father. She could never get back her final moments with him. “Iwas pretending. I was trying to get close to you so I could escape. So I guess we’re even.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Why not?”
He threw his arms out. “Because you don’tactlike you hate me.”
“I was acting!” she yelled. “I’ve told you repeatedly how I feel about you. I hate you, and it’s not my fault if you didn’t listen.”
Drake let out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, then you’re right. I guess we’re even.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me.”
Drake nodded. “If that’s how you want it to be.”
“That’s how it is,” she snapped. “We don’t have to keep up the charade.” She glanced at the door. “You can leave now.”
“Is that what you want?”
She folded her arms over her chest, trying to look brave, not brokenhearted. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
“Fine,” he muttered. Then he turned and left.
Myka reachedunder her cot and pulled out the small basket Drake had given her to keep her belongings. At the bottom, tucked into the pocket of her change of pants, was the bottle of pills she’d taken from the bomb shelter yesterday. At the time she’d taken it, she hadn’t thought she would ever have to use it. Drake had been the good guy then. Drake was going to protect her. Blah, blah, blah. She shook her head. How stupid and gullible could she be?
That’s not how life worked.
She’d been abandoned, lied to, betrayed, and used. The only person she could count on was herself. She twisted the lid to the bottle. Nothing happened. She twisted again. Was the lid stuck because it was two hundred years old or because she was stupid? She looked at the instructions on the cap, pressing down and twisting at the same time. The lid popped open. There were twelve white cylinder pills and four different circular ones. She walked over to the front of the shack where there was a crack in the boards and peeked out the hole, listening for the men. It was dark, and no one was around.
Myka rushed to the table and dumped out the pills, scattering them across the wood. She lifted her foot up, taking her shoe off. With all of her strength, she pressed the heel of her shoe into one of the white pills, crumbling it into tiny little pieces. She worked the heel over each piece, crushing it until it was only powder. Then she repeated the process with the other pills, even the different ones. Using her fingers, she scraped the powder back into the bottle, trying to get every last particle. She didn’t know if the drugs would actually work. The bottle said don’t take more than five a day. What would twelve two-hundred-year-old pills do? And what if those pills were mixed with four other different ones? Mixing medicine could be just as dangerous as overdosing. In this case, she hoped that was true. She secured the lid to the bottle and put it in her jacket pocket. She didn’t know if she would even get the opportunity to use the drugs, but she would keep them in her pocket just in case.
It was her last escape plan.
The one that had to work.
25
Myka
It was the middle of the night, and Myka should be sleeping, but she couldn’t. Not without Drake next to her. Was this how it was going to be now? Would her body refuse to relax unless he was there next to her?She lay on the cot curled up in a ball, playing back through what Drake had said. He had given her a million reasons to hate him. And she did. Every little part of her hated him. But if he had given heronegood reason—if he had said that he loved her—she probably wouldn’t have pushed him away. But he hadn’t said that. Why would he? He was only pretending, and even his pretend feelings couldn’t conjure up love. And even if he had said something he meant, how would Myka know to believe him?
How had everything gotten so screwed up?
