Page 164 of The Otherworld

A muscle twitches in Adam’s jaw, but he doesn’t defend himself. He releases my shirt with a jolt and says, “You’re out of line, Jack. Go home. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Oh, no, we won’t. We’ll talk about it now.” I rip the journal out of my pocket and slam it into Adam’s chest.

He staggers back, staring at the book in his hands like it’s a time bomb.

“I found your letter to her. Remember? The one you wrote back when ‘nothing happened’ between you two on the island?”

The color drains from Adam’s face as he stares at the journal. “I’ve… been meaning to talk to you about this for a while.”

“Sure,” I snap. “You only had a hundred opportunities to say something! But I guess it was more fun to watch me make a fool of myself, huh?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. I should have. But for god’s sake, you should have been smart enough to take a hint.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? Of course. Everything is always my fault, never yours—”

“Orca hasn’t deceived you,” Adam bursts out, his eyes blazing. “You’re the one who’s been deceiving yourself. Orca thought you were showing her the world because you cared about her, not because you hoped to get anything out of it.”

“I do care about her.”

“No, you don’t,” Adam shoots back. “If you really cared, you wouldn’t be trying to change her just to suit yourself. You wouldn’t ask her to give up her life and her father and everything she’s ever known.”

“And if you really cared about her, you wouldn’t be taking her back to that island to be a prisoner again! If you loved her, you’d want her to stay.”

Adam shakes his head. “That’s not love, Jack. That’s selfishness. Have you ever wondered why it never lasts with any of those girls you’ve been with? Because all you care about is what you can get out of them.”

A flash of rage bolts through me, and that’s it—

“You bastard.”

I punch him in the face.

Adam stumbles backward, his hand flying up to his jaw. For a second, I can’t believe what I just did.

Orca screams Adam’s name, and he pushes her back, out of the way.

I charge at him, swinging for his face—but he grabs me by the shoulders and sends me flying across the room. I crash into the workbench, slamming my face on the edge. Tools clatter to the cement floor. I taste blood on my lips as I straighten up, adrenaline firing through my veins.

I lunge for Adam again, but he blocks my punch, grabs my forearm.

Damn, he’s strong—

He drives me back, back, back until I slam into the metal wall with a thud. I go for his ribs, but he blocks his free arm down and seizes my other wrist.

“STOP IT!” he roars into my face, nailing my hands to the wall over my head.

He doesn’t want to hurt me; I can see it in his eyes. But I haven’t even begun to hurt him. I struggle under his hold, fighting to get my hands back. Adam doesn’t budge, solid as a rock. He’s got about forty pounds on me and could do this all day.

“Jack—”

I kick him hard in the shin.

“AGH!”

It’s enough to weaken his hold for that one second.

And that’s all I need.

With a roar of rage, I jump on his back and tackle him to the ground. We both crash to the cement, rolling over fallen tools as we grapple on the floor. I sputter cusses, struggling to get on top of Adam as he tries to wrestle me into submission.

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