I’m so tired of keeping secrets, and George is the closest thing to a friend I’ve had in… well, ever really.
“There was a fire,” I tell her. My scalp shivers with delicious vibration with each snip of the scissors. “And if burned hair is the worst that I got out of it, I’d say I’m pretty lucky.”
“If.”
“What?”
“You said ‘if’ it was the worst. So was it?”
Damn, I forgot how perceptive she is. So I settle for an answer somewhere between truth and lie. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”
A smirk tugs at her cheeks, and she lets it for just a moment before composing her concentration for another cut. “You certainly seem like it today. I take it you had a good night with Zane.”
Warmth lights my face. I refuse to look in the mirror, to see whether I am as red as I feel.
I gasp as we roll upright, my thighs bracketing Zane’s head as he delivers a long, slow lick from my opening to my clit, then lashes it in a series of quick, punishing strokes. I can’t stop my hips from undulating, from grinding myself against him in wanton abandon.
My hand covers his as he tweaks my nipple, sending a bolt of pleasure through my body. I buck wildly as he sucks, as that sensitive bundle of nerves enters his mouth and he laps at it once more.
“It was an interesting night,” I say. Understatement of the damn century.
I want to believe Zane has good intentions. He saved me from the CCP. The severity of my fate would have depended on who won the bid, but it’s safe to say a gruesome death awaited. When Charade found me, I thought my worst nightmares were coming to fruition. I’ve seen the brand of justice bestowed on his enemies.
Instead of repaying me for years of thwarted plans, of being the one thing to stand in the way of his victory, he chose mercy. And that goes against everything I know. As much as I want him, I’m terrified it’s another mask my enemy wears. What if this is a mistake?
Trusting him.
Liking him.
Wanting him.
“You know what I think?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I think it’s always been easy for you to know what’s right and what’s wrong. You made a decision, picked a side, and that was it. You never questioned it again. You found a line and didn’t have to think to follow it. Maybe that kept you safe for a while.
“Life isn’t like that. People make mistakes and learn from them. Some people use that knowledge to help. Others use it to prey on the innocent with lies and deceit, and the trick is that no one can tell which is which. That’s why you have to keep your eyes open. Questioning. That’s the only way to keep anyone safe. You learned it the hard way.”
I cross my arms, a chill racing across my skin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t.” Her smile in the mirror is warm and soothing, a light balm to any wounds her words pricked open. “All I’m saying is it’s okay to change your mind, and it’s okay not to have all the answers.”
20
ZANE
Paper is such an interesting tool. It’s soft, malleable, but it can wound too. Slices. Papercuts. It can stab into your palm with surprising force when you crumple it into a moment of frustration. Which really only adds fuel to the fire.
“Damn.” A razor’s trail of red shoots across the vulnerable palm flesh, directly opposite my knuckles. Just a moment of pain, little more than an irritation, but it seems so much more indicative of my current situation.
I’ve tried everything I can think of to modify the serum. When I was testing the original experiments, I couldn’t be picky. Everything was a mad dash against the clock and every gamble I took was made with my life as collateral. It didn’t matter. I was dead anyway, so I might as well have some fun, right?
Every new formula came with its own risks and rewards, and every time I tried one, my body changed a little bit more. It’s a miracle I found one that worked before I poisoned myself. It was always only a matter of time. Nothing in the face of a steady diet of justice, vengeance, and grief so thick I was practically choking on it.
And from all of that, Charade was born.
My shoulders ache with a kind of tension that no amount of rubbing will ease. My limbs creak and pop with every painful, yet satisfying stretch. God, it feels good just to stand and not be looking at a computer.
And there’s the one question still to ponder that never seems to be far from my mind these days, or really any other.
Kaye.
