Page 69 of Inflict

She smiled slyly. “Doesn’t matter.” She dropped her hand, and leaned back. “Hold out your right palm, please?”

Confused but amused, Connor did as she asked. Evelyn’s gaze skimmed over the shamrock shaped scar inside his palm, her finger coming up to trace the mark’s many layers.

“This is not one time,” Evelyn said. “It has too many ridges to be once.”

“Good eye, lass.”

“Won’t you tell me why?”

No.

Because he didn’t even like to tell himself.

Connor flipped over his other hand, showing the shamrock scar there, too. “I have two.”

Evelyn’s gaze lowered, and she went back to her pad. “I have two of something, too. Brands, though you won’t ever say that to my face. The difference between my brand and yours, is you can cover mine. You’ve made it impossible to cover yours. Have you branded your body without ink, Connor, or did someone else do it?”

Good eye, he repeated internally.

“Draw, love,” he murmured.

Evelyn’s gaze flicked up to meet his, but she dropped it just as fast. He was thankful she had seemingly dropped the topic of his scars, and relaxed in his seat as she drew in silence.

Connor wasn’t sure how much time had passed—probably close to an hour—before Evelyn made a noise of triumph, and she sat up with her legs hanging off the side of the seat. She looked over her shoulder to stare out the window, still keeping her pad hidden against her chest.

“Am I really free?” she asked softly.

It was the one question he had been afraid she might ask.

He could say yes.

He could say no.

Neither of them might be right.

He settled on, “Yes.”

“Could I leave?” Evelyn looked to him, her face devoid of emotion to tell him how she felt about that question. “Tonight, if I wanted. Tomorrow, if I woke up and felt like it. Could I?”

Connor’s chest tightened, but he answered honestly. “Yes, but I would prefer that you don’t go.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not sure how well you would do alone right now; you’ve been shut in for a long time. You’re not self-sufficient, lass, not in money, or even being able to cook for yourself.”

Evelyn frowned. “I could learn all of those things.”

She could.

And he was teaching her, when he had the time.

“But it’s mostly because I’m a selfish bastard,” Connor admitted, “and I would rather have you here with me right now. Even if transplanting you across the country might be the safest thing, or just getting you somewhere no one knows your name or your face, I would rather have you—”

“Here with you,” she interrupted gently.

“Selfish.”

Evelyn’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You forgot the bastard bit.”