Page 102 of Ghosted

That lands.

I see it hit his face before he shuts it down.

“Alice.”

“No, fuck you.” My voice comes out sharper than I expect, but I don’t take it back. “You don’t get to act hurt right now.”

His face tightens.

I step closer, hands curled at my sides because I don’t trust myself not to touch him. “I’m the one he hurt, Jagger. Me. I’m the one whose body he turned into a message for you. I’m the one standing here begging you not to go. Not to walk straight into the trap we both know he laid.”

His jaw works, but he says nothing.

That makes it worse.

“You know what he’s doing,” I say, my voice cracking despite how badly I try to hold it together. “You know, and you’re still choosing to give it to him.”

“I’m not fucking choosing him.”

“Yes, you are.” The words come out fast now, messy and hot and too honest. “You’re choosing the cage. The crowd. The blood. You’re choosing whatever fucked-up thing between you two matters more than listening to me.”

His eyes flash. “That’s not fair.”

“No.” I laugh once, and it almost sounds like a sob. “None of this is fair. But don’t stand there looking wounded because I’m mad at you. You don’t get to make your guilt louder than what happened to me.”

“Alice—”

“No.” I grab the strap of my bag tighter. “You can break every bone in Johnny’s body on Friday, and he’ll still win if you become exactly what he wants everyone to see.”

Jagger looks at me with too much sitting behind his eyes.

Anger. Fear. That possessive thing he keeps calling protection because it sounds better than control.

For once, he doesn’t say anything.

That should make it easier to leave. But it doesn’t.

Because the sad, stupid truth is I came here thinking I could stop him. Not with the truth we both know, or another speech about Johnny and traps and cages.

But with me.

By being enough for him to pause.

That thought hurts so much I almost laugh.

Instead, I cross the room and kiss him.

Hard.

Jagger freezes for half a second, and then he kisses me back, one hand catching my waist, the other sliding into my hair. He’s careful at first, which somehow makes me angrier.

I don’t want careful right now.

I want him to feel this. To understand that I am standing right in front of him, asking him to choose me over whatever sick thing Johnny keeps dragging out of him.

So I shove closer.

He makes a rough sound against my mouth, and my back hits the wall beside the door. His hand braces beside my head, holding himself off me, still giving me room, still trying not to be the thing I’m afraid of.