Page 92 of Paper Coffins

“You’ve barely come near me in days.”

“I’ve slept all but ten feet away.”

“You know what I mean.”

It’s not that I want Beckett to smother me. It’s more that, while we both pressed similar blades to one another’s necks, I felt like I had a purpose to serve. He ripped me so vehemently away from everything I knew and wanted that, while we were sniping at one another, I felt like I wasn’t a prisoner here.

“Is that an issue?”

I shrug. “I’m starting to think you really do hate me.”

He sniggers. “I was told to let you rest.”

“You’re not one to listen.” I snort disdainfully.

Billy told Beckett to make me rest for a few days. The bastard took him seriously.

“Talia.” He sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m a lot of things when it comes to you, but what happened the other day is not something I can just glance over.”

I’m a mess of tiny cuts and purpling bruises, but nothing that I would call severe. When I was shown a photo of the car, I was surprised no one was really hurt. When I saw the note left, though, any pain dissipated to allow my anger to boil to an immeasurable level.

The problem now is I’ve been stewing on it for days.

That coinciding with being treated like glass is enough to send me over the edge.

“Why?” I murmur, gulping slightly. “They’d make your life easier.”

I wanted to come back here and commandeer everything. I was willing to use violence if I had to. Use my sexuality to blind men. Utilise any means necessary, but one second with Beckett fractured everything I planned.

And I hated myself for it.

“If I wanted you dead, don’t you think I’d have done it already?”

“I don’t know. You’ve grown up a bit since we last met. Your father always did take a liking to equal measures of torture and death.”

He knows I’m right, but while I can tell he agrees, I can also see that he hates the constant comparison to Alistair. For what it’s worth, Beckett is not his father’s son. Not entirely. What makes this so much harder is seeing elements of my father in him. Things I should have inherited are now shown in the face of a man I have loved for too long.

“You always were a hard limit, Natalia.” He stands, looking at me with an intense glare. “Get ready. You’ve got an hour.”

I don’t look away from the door when he leaves.

Beckett being nice to me is not something I like.

Or trust.

* * *

It’s been so long since I walked these corridors that I can’t resist the temptation to look now. I was meant to go and find Beckett, but my feet carried me in the other direction, heading toward my parents’ room. My mother had died years ago with my brother, leaving my father to mourn the loss of the love of his life and his doting son while looking after me. He could never bring himself to change their bedroom or my brother’s, and inquisitiveness has me in a chokehold.

I want the nostalgia.

I want to get lost in my old life.

Remember how it felt to have a place in life before it all got taken so violently away from me.

The low moan coming from the room ahead, however, catches my attention, and curiosity was always the bitch that got me into the most trouble.

So, I follow the noise.

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