Page 22 of The Colour of Revenge
I wasn't always like this—cold, calculated, and deadly. Once, I believed my life would follow the same trajectory as everyone else's: school, friends, and dreams of a future.
But life had other plans.
It may be time I stop pretending.
I shrug. "I could eat."
An hour later, we're parked outside a McDonald's. Showered and changed into Nate's spare clothes—stashed in the back of his car, of course. I'm now drowning in a black hoodie and joggers.
The hoodie is massive, thanks to Nate's broad shoulders and ridiculous height. The sleeves are so long that I could use them as gloves.
We match, though. Conveniently, he had two pairs of everything.
I shift, inhaling the scent clinging to the fabric. Spiced clove and cedarwood. Rich. Earthy.
It feels like a quiet, protective embrace.
"Did you just sniff my hoodie?" Nate's voice slices through the silence, teasing but low enough to make my pulse quicken.
Not so subtle, then.
I lift my chin. "Yep."
His smirk deepens, voice dipping into something low, dark, and dangerous. "I like that."
I glance at him. Something flickers in his gaze—heat, quick and fleeting.
Then it's gone.
Inside, we sit with our food—Happy Meals, because apparently, we're both children.
The silence between us is surprisingly easy.
Strange how comfortable this is. This moment between two killers.
There’s something grounding about his presence. When he is near, all the chaos in my life fades into the background.
Nate leans back, unwrapping his burger. "So… Do I finally get to know your name? Or do I just keep calling you 'Princess'?"
I smirk, leaning forward. "I'm not a princess, I'm a queen."
Nate's lips twitch with a grin. "My deepest apologies, Your Majesty." He gives a mock bow from across the table, a voice rich with amusement.
I laugh—a real, unguarded laugh. The sound feels foreign. But good. So damn good.
"It's Carina, by the way."
His gaze flickers with something unreadable. "Carina," he repeats my name, slow and deliberate, letting it roll off his tongue like a secret meant only for us.
A shiver trails down my spine. The way he says it—deep, smooth, almost sinful—lingers in the air between us.
I watch as he takes a bite of his burger, his jaw flexing with every slow movement. There's something unnervingly attractive about him, even under the harsh fluorescent glow of a McDonald's. It could be how he carries himself as if he owns the space around him. Or it could be how his dark, piercing gaze could strip me bare with a glance.
I drag my eyes away, fingers trembling slightly as I reach for my fries.
I shouldn't feel this way.
I don't want to feel this way.
