Page 49 of Marek

I push up, glaring at him as I follow him out the door.

He moves quietly down the hallway, like a trained thief. You wouldn’t even know he was here. We pass Carter’s room, and I pause for a moment, mouthing a sorry to absolutely no one before following Marek out the front door which he somehowmanaged to open. Carter doesn’t have great security—he’s too cocky. He thinks nobody would ever want to break in here.

He's probably right, they wouldn’t.

A simple lock on the door is all he needs.

Not when Marek is involved, though.

Once we’re out of the house, he walks over to the huge black truck in the driveway and opens the door, watching me as I climb in. I don’t say a single word as he goes around and gets in himself, and when he takes off driving, I press my lips together, trying to force myself not to speak even though there is so much I want to say.

I can’t keep silent for long.

“Why are you like this?”

He doesn’t answer, not right away.

“Elaborate?”

“Don’t play dumb, Marek. I’m asking you why you’re such a monster.”

Nothing.

Well, I’m going to push.

“Nobody else is here but you and I, can you at least tell me something about yourself? You want me to act perfect, and you know everything about my life, but I know nothing of yours.”

More silence.

Then he surprises me when he speaks.

“My mother was an abusive junkie.”

Oh, come on, I need more.

I won’t say I’m sorry; Marek doesn’t seem like the type who would appreciate that.

“Is she still alive?”

“No. My father watched her drown in her own vomit, then left us and never looked back.”

Oh.

Shit.

“Us, you have siblings?”

“I’m done with the questions, girl,” he growls.

“Please,” I say, softly. “It’s just you and I in this car.”

“I have a brother. Don’t know where he is.”

“Have you ever tried to find him?”

He shakes his head.

“Why not?”

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