Page 89 of Tell Me Why
“Do you know what that book is? What’s inside could bury the Sacred Sons—every single one of us.”
“That was the idea,” I say, my voice breaking. But the rage doesn’t. Every cell in my body vibrates with the explosion of anger that’s being lit inside me.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a gleam of metal on the desk. With my free hand, I grab the letter opener and lunge forward, pressing the dull tip against his throat, right under his chin.
Christian freezes, looking down at me, his pulse throbbing. He could easily grab me and disarm me. He doesn’t. He just... stands there, arms spread like he’s offering himself to me.
A sacrifice.
“Do it.” He leans forward a little, pushing the blunt metal deeper into his skin. “You know you want my blood.”
“I should,” I whisper, the tears flowing freely now. “You’re so fucking cold, so heartless. I’d be doing the world a favor.”
His pale eyes never leave my face. “You’re right.”
Exactly. He can’t even defend himself.
But the victory of being right feels empty.
Clenching my jaw, I inch the blade deeper, just enough to break skin. A little bead of blood appears, but he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
One quick push is all it’d take. It’d be so easy.
But I can’t do it.
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—like he’s hoping I’ll do it. Like he’s been carrying around so much darkness that death would be a relief.
“I’m not a murderer,” I say through clenched teeth. “That’s the difference between us—you cross lines I never would.” I pause. “Actually, scratch that—” I pull the blade back, then jab it into his neck forcefully.
But he must’ve known it was coming, because at the last second, he shifts and the blade slices through the side of his neck instead.
“Shit,” he hisses, hand flying to the cut. Bright red blood seeps between his fingers, and he looks up at me, shock registering on his face. “You fuckingstabbedme.”
“Next time, I’ll go for your balls.” I open my hand and let the opener fall to the floor. Then I step around him, the envelope still tucked under my arm.
His strained voice follows me as I walk to the door. “Eve. Don’t do this.”
“You used me.” I feel hallow inside, like he dug into me with both hands, and gutted me like a fucking pumpkin. “You manipulated me—” my voice cracks “—you made me feel things for you.”
“Those feelings were real,” he says behind me. One, two, three footsteps slowly close the distance between us, like he’s cautiously approaching a wounded animal. But he’s the one who’s wounded. “They weren’t part of the plan.”
I wipe the dampness off my cheek. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“What we have is fucking real, Eve,” he repeats, catching my wrist with his free hand to stop me from stop me from walking away.
I pull my wrist out of his hand, but only because he lets me. I narrow my eyes at him. “How could it be real when everything from day one was a lie?”
“Not everything, Eve.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Eve
I’m still reelingfrom my conversation with Christian as I trudge across campus toward Rush House. It’s dark, and cold, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t left my cloak back at the office. Thankfully, I have my searing anger at Christian to keep me warm.
Theliteralaudacity of him. I’m so fucking infuriated, I can hardly think straight. I should stab him again. And this time, I won’t miss.
The worst part, though, is that I allowed myself to fall for him, even knowing what he is.
