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The trailing silence doesn’t worry me.
He tugs me suddenly until I’m pressed against him, leaving me peering up at the masked man. I’m forced to look up simply by the height difference, but it’s our physical touch, matched by his fruity scent, which has such a strong pine undertone. With all these trees behind us and this massive lake before us, it sets a certain mood.
A dangerous one.
“Why is it so easy for you to decipher me?” His question is breathless while he forces my chin upward with a firm grip. Our closeness, the pulsing friction and energy, and the inability to see what he’s thinking within the depths of his eyes are doing crazy things to me.
I’m growing wet at the possibilities while my nipples further harden with the passing of the chilled breeze. I’m playing a gamble with speaking so truthfully to a man I barely know, but I think that’s the only way to have him on my side.
To do what so many don’t bother attempting.
Speaking the truth.
“Because… when I look at you… sometimes… I realize how similar we could be,” I confess. “We don’t know each other well enough. I don’t know shit about your past. Heck, you could be lying to me from day one…”
“But,” he prompts.
“But if you had, I wouldn’t be mad about it. Maybe it’s difficult to explain in words,” I admit and try to avoid his stare. “Everyone lies to protect face. To shield their pain and to ensure they look tough and sinister.”
I force my eyes to return to his mask and hope I’m peering straight into his eyes.
“You’re the only one who wears the truth on your sleeve, and even then, many don’t acknowledge it because labeling you is much easier, isn’t it?”
“The easiest and laziest way to get to know someone,” he whispers.
“The only ones who put in a bit of effort were Domino and Ares,” I assume, to which he slowly nods his head.
Nodding back, I sigh.
“Only Warren has ever been able to catch onto my kill instinct. He’s the only one who kind of gets me. Not entirely, which is understandable, but… when you’re forced into a world because it’s either that or homelessness, you can’t focus or even care about whether one understands you or not. All your mind can focus on is survival.”
I mean those words as I reflect on the moment I was sold that rainy night and pushed to the ground before Mr. Prescott.
My new father.
“Like a pawn on a chessboard, you become exactly like that—a tool in this vicious world. Your emotions don’t matter. The hardships that you’re forced to take on are but a privilege to the rest of the world. Your suffering doesn’t matter because you lost those rights to such entitlement. You’re left to become someone you’re not, and no one wishes to acknowledge it.”
I pause and smirk.
“Actually, no. It’s not like they don’t wish to acknowledge. They don’t want to… period.” My smile grows. “That’s too easy and means they’ll have to burden someone else if they give yousympathy, so they won’t. They’ll be naive. Oblivious. Since that’s better. Safer. More beneficial for everyone in the room.” It’s a mockery, really. “Except you. You’re the sacrifice.”
We stare at one another while my words hum in the chilled air.
“And here I am, walking into yet another situation that forces me to peel away the layers of protection I put all around myself for another. To benefit from what the Prescotts have worked endlessly to keep in a tiny little bubble. To them, my sister is the grand prize. Reserved to become the offering to a set of Kings that now have the opportunity to use and abuse me however they wish. They know exactly what they’re doing. Mother… Father… even Warren. Yet they continue on their path, knowing it’ll benefit them all in the end.”
“And what does that make you?” he ponders.
“Obviously, the loser,” I laugh. It’s a hearty sound I don’t hear as often with my ears.
“You don’t believe that.”
I smile at his comment as I briefly look at the lake’s surface.
“What do you think I believe?” I toss back because I want to know what he sees. The idea encourages me to look at him once more, and I’m surprised because the mask is lifted enough, so I’m forced to see those stunning eyes of venom while his lips are in a stern line.
“You’re a victor in your eyes,” he declares, as if written in stone. “Only, you haven’t shown your winning flush of cards.”
“Zander,” I whisper and watch him pull the mask off entirely. He lets his short locks fall gracefully, accenting his handsome face and high cheekbones. Under the moonlight, he’s stunning to admire up close, but the cynical glimmer in his eyes makes me wonder what he’s thinking about.
