Page 24 of Entangled

His eyes flick to her again, and an answering flicker of satisfaction ticks through me. Like I’ve slotted a piece into a puzzle.

He wants her.

He wants her and he killed the man she loves.

He wants her... but Mateo is clearly in love with him.

“Hmm,” I say, unable to help my knowing tone, and he drags his gaze back to mine.

We stare at one another for a moment, and then he rests his head back on the tree. “She wouldn’t be.”

The sourness in his tone is tart enough to curl my tongue.

I shake my head as I finish putting my small jars in the bag they gave me, wondering how I might use this new information.

“What does Mateo think about that?” I venture.

Alastair’s chin tilts curiously. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“Aren’t you two together?”

He smiles, but his eyes are unfathomable. “Hmm.”

My natural curiosity rises, but I clamp it back down. I don’t care. I don’t care about Alastair, or Mateo, or any of the Sinners. I don’t care that he’s hurt, or that he’s intervened for us.

Alastair killed Madison’s lover.

Alastair could have been the one who lit Jaykob’s barn on fire.

My gaze drops to his chest, and his burns take on a new ugliness in my mind.

Mateo drops in beside us, looking at me with round, anxious eyes. “How is he? He’s better? He seems better?”

I avoid his gaze. I hate that his desperation bothers me. It calls my own to the surface. I hate that I can’t wish my grief even on my enemies.

My fingers shake as I tie my bag and rise.

“He’s as good as can be without proper medicine, or supplies, or skilled care,” I tell him.

“That doesn’t sound good at all.”

Sighing, I pull the bag over my shoulder and look up at him. “No, I’m afraid it’s not.”

Panic writhes in his dark eyes, and my stomach jolts. Alastair takes his hand and squeezes, but Mateo doesn’t look away from me.

Stop it, stop it, Eden, I berate myself.He doesn’t deserve your pity.

“Excuse me, I need to make lunch.”

Mateo shakes Alastair off, then catches my arm and turns us away from him.

“Please,gatita,” he begs in an undertone. “You have to save him.”

“Be careful, please,” I choke out as red stains my cheeks. “And save them.”

The memory of my own frantic pleas to Dom hits me like a grenade, and I back up. Alastair is not my problem. Mateo’s fear isnotmy problem. My heart pounds as memories cram in on top of one another, and I shake my head as though I can shake them loose.

All of the Sinners should have stayed back at their base. They should have left Bristlebrookalone.

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