Page 27 of The Trust We Broke
I hate the way his words land.
Worse, I hate that everything he’s saying is true.
“Fuck off, Grudge,” I say childishly. But I notice some of his brothers standing outside Whiskey Fever, looking in our direction.
“Oh, she’s angry.” He takes a step back, hands up in mock surrender, like I might bite, but I don’t scare him in the least.
I need to get my head back on straight before I do something soul-destroying…like close the gap between us and taste that mouth again, just to spite myself.
“You think this is a game?” I ask. “Riding in on your bike, picking fights, and starting gang wars? You don’t get to play alpha and expect me to heel.”
His smile is slow to flourish, and mean. “Good. I never liked it when you heeled.”
“That’s not true,” I say, falling off my own script.
It knocks Grudge off his too. His smile slips. We both remember.
Taunting is not usually my style.
Never was. I never poked this man without reason. You hear about these girls who brat in relationships with dominant men, but I never had to. I could just be who I was, and he loved me for it.
Our disagreements were limited, and I won as many as I lost.
I want to slap him for making me remember. Instead, I inhale sharply and lift my chin. “Are you done growling at me for the night?”
“Depends. Are you done talking?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re turned on. Could always tell when you were.”
I snort. “Wow. Prison really polished your manners.” A piece of me dies inside. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and not who I am.”
His smile fades. “Prison taught me a lot of things, Luce. Taught me what was important when everything you own isstripped back to basics. Taught me how to look out for myself. Taught me how fast people disappear when you’re not useful anymore. Taught me who to bleed for. What to fight for.”
I swallow hard and notice he doesn’t say anything about who to love.
But the implication is there. And it burns.
A country song about second chances drifts across the street from Whiskey Fever.
“Yo. Grudge. We should go,” Smoke shouts. I remember him, from when we were all younger. I wonder if the road name I can see on his cut means he became the smoke jumper he wanted to be.
Grudge looks over at him and raises a hand. “Be ready to go in a minute.”
Sixty seconds.
I can last sixty seconds in front of him. Even as my pulse races.
“I don’t want a medal for going to prison for you, for protecting you. But it would be a start if you stopped pretending that you didn’t want me to make sure he never touched you again,” Grudge says.
“That’s not true. I didn’t want?—”
“Just stop, Luce.”
“You need something from me?” I ask. My voice is far from steady. After rewatching the videos of the way he used to adore and treasure me, it’s hard to be confronted with the cold and callousness of his tone. “Do you need clarity? Closure? The last word?”
His gaze drops to my lips as I speak, and I swear I can see the hunger in his eyes. “I want you to be smart. Stay away from the Rebels. You’re not bulletproof.”
