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“Can you hand me the candle box on the bottom shelf? We don’t need to be tripping over anymore dildos.” She scratches the center of her brow. “Don’t ask.”
I give her the box she’s looking for and let her light the candles and turn down the lights while I send a message to the guy who was supposed to get me out of this country.
My gut wrenches at the thought of leaving Neve behind. I rest my shoulder against the wall in the Suspiro Room, so I can watch the window and admire the girl who got under my skin—literally, considering her fingers dug around inside my bloody abdomen.
She’s going to hate me.
But without knowing, Neve Cassidy has just become the most hated woman on Pink Street. There won’t be a bounty on her head, like she believes; they’re going to want her taken alive. To squeeze for information, to violate, to break her before ending her—or worse, keep her for their personal use. My guy confirmed what I had suspected.
Getting Neve out of this country won’t be easy, so I lied. I’m really fucking good at lying.
Neve holds up a book, a wide beautiful smile on her face as she wiggles it in the air, while I slide a hand over the wound that brought us together.
I had to buy some time or everything will go to shit.
“This one. This one was your mom’s favorite,” she beams.
“Yeah, it was.” All of them were, but I want Snow to have this moment. To take a piece of my mom with her. What’s coming isn’t going to be easy.
“I must have found her reading it once every few months, making notes on the edges.” With her thumb, Neve fans through the pages and whiffs the light breeze the paper makes as it’s riffled against her skin.
Bliss. Despite the clusterfuck around here, she finds peace in the tiniest things, like the smell of an old book. A GinaBell. And me.
She’ll never know freedom or happiness again, if I leave her here. But I can’t exactly take her out of here either, which makes the next couple hours tricky. No matter what cost, leaving Neve Cassidy isn’t an option.
“You said one book…” She bites on her bottom lip. “But…”
The smile that creeps over my lips is one-hundred percent due to Neve. How this girl manages to go from me hating her, to wanting to kill her, to feeling thankful, to wanting to be inside her and, apparently, repeat that process baffles me. “But what?”
“… this one is my favorite.” A blush strikes her cheeks as Neve piles the thick book on top of the other one. “I’ll just take these,” she says as she gets on her knees. “Just two? Umm… Three?”
Bargaining for books in the face of death. Odd, addicting, woman.
Returning my gaze toward the window, just in case, I watch for some rando on the street, peering into the window or looping around the block. Cars don’t ride this road during these hours, so hailing a cab to get to the meeting point is out of the question. Getting out of here with a large bag is going to be hard, lugging books around will slow me down.
Although I hate to say this, I have to. “One book, Snow.”
When this damn girl pouts, her eyes round and it aims right for my heart.
“We have to sneak out…” she complies. “Only what I can fit in my purse.”
“Or bag. Bring the money and a few things to get you by a few days. We’ll get you some clothes when we get out.” I want to say when we get her to safety, but she’s pissed off two crime syndicates… safe isn’t something she will ever be, at least without me.
God only knows how long I will be around once my father gets his hands on me. My driver insists I call my dad, who is beyond livid. But I won’t give my father the chance to spoil this for me.
But Neve will besaferat Stonewall with Margot.
“It’s the way it has to be, Snow.”
“I get it,” she snorts out. “It’s not like I own much, anyway.” With a longing look, she turns toward the bookshelf behind her. “But I will miss these…” The candle light hits her cheekbones, illuminating her features with a glow.
She’s too fucking beautiful to be stuffed in a place like this.
“I come to this room when being out there,” she points toward the window, “is too much.” On her knees, she slowly stacks the books on the floor near one of the candles, then realizes what she’s doing. “Don’t say it.” She peers up at me through those long, thick lashes. “I know putting stuff back doesn’t make a difference.”
“It doesn’t.” I quickly take note of the amount of light in this room and shove some books back on the shelf, so I can relocate the candles to hide some of the glow from the outside. You’re never coming back here, you know that.”
Why does that cause a wince?“Never?”
