Page 14 of Entangled

In fact, they owe me theirs.

Madison groans, shifting in her ropes, but it sounds more frustrated than pained. They tied her to the tree because she tried to run twice, even though Sam said she has a bad ankle and a broken nose. They don’t seem to have any qualms about injuring us. Apparently, as long as we’re alive, can walk well enough, and are still... useable... we’re fair game.

Madison seems to be testing the limits of their patience.

Sam wants to take it further—he keeps trying to drag her away for a “chat” to “teach her some manners”—but Alastair’s men keep wandering by at convenient times.

Not that the waytheylook at us is much better.

Despite the help he’s given her, Alastair frightens me.

The burned man who speaks in whispers. The burned man who, even injured, watches us with a dark, unnerving intensity.

I’m not sure if Alastair is holding Sam and Owen back because he doesn’t want us to be hurt, or if he just wants us the way any powerful man wants valuable contraband.

“It hurts, right?” Madison kicks my legs with her good foot, and it sends a delicious jolt of pain up my spine. I pant into the earth. “Itallhurts. And I’m sor?—”

Her voice cracks, and I close my eyes. When she starts again, her voice is steadier. “I’m sorry for all of it. You have no idea how much. But there’s no changing it. We’ve all lost people we shouldn’t have—and it isterrible. It is painful ashell. But you can’t afford this right now.” Her tone hardens. “Neither of us have time for grief. Or guilt. Those feelings are useless right now. Get over it.”

I ignore her again. A part of me wishes they would gag her, just to shut her up. Doesn’t she see there’s no point to this defiance of hers? The dead are still dead, and we’re both as fucked as each other.

I don’t feelguiltyfor anything. Just... resigned.

She kicks me again, and this time I cry out.

“Stoplyingthere. Do something, you coward. Their deaths don’t give you a license to check out. You might as well spit on their cold, dead corpses doing that.” She pauses, then murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear her, “You’re living their lives now too.”

That jab hits something soft and tender. My brutes were the most vibrantly alive people I’ve ever met. It’s wrong that they’re dead. It feels perverse. Against nature. Like some vital law of the universe has been circumvented.

But Madison is wrong.

I’m not giving up. There’s just nothing I can do right now. Trying to escape, or fight back, in this kind of situation is futile—it will only end up getting me hurt worse.

And yet...

There is no way Dom would lie here like this. He would mock me too, for being this weak. He would push me on. The backs of my eyes sting, and I trace the hard, arrogant lines of his face in my mind.

Madisoniswrong. But maybe she’s also right, in a way. My memory of my protectors is the last thing of them left. Maybe I do have a duty to carry on the best of them, to take the lessons they gave me. To be as brave as Dom, as kind as Beau. To somehow find a way to be as joyful as Lucky or as clever as Jasper. To train myself to be as full of fight as Jaykob.

But how can I dothatwhen I feel likethis? It’s like all color and light has leached from my soul and everything is now cast in uninspiring shades of ash and onyx.

Aching, I roll over. It strains my arms and presses my wrists into the grass under me, but I can see Madison now.

Pretty, sickening rage rises in me like a tide.

“I want to kill them,” I whisper.

She startles, her brows shooting up. “So that’s a yes on the decent conversationalist thing.” Then she grins. It has cruel edges. “Murder is one of my favorite topics.”

And despite myself, a surprised, bemused snort escapes me. It’s a terribly rude sound, but my usual manners feel far away. My body is coursing with pain—and a simmering, violent anger. The feelings are foreign. Overwhelming. There’s so much to them, so many layers, and I don’t know where to put them.

I’ve never had to find a place for feelings like this before.

I shuffle, trying to work out how to sit. It’s going to hurt. With my hands tied at the base of my spine, I press off the ground and crunch my stomach. The seeping red crust on my wrists tears open, but I manage to lift myself up.

I breathe hard through the pain, embracing it, and I fight through a dizzying haze as I pull myself into a more comfortable sitting position against a thick log beside her.

She snorts when she catches me taking in her restraints.

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