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“No, it doesn’t,” he scoffed. “It means the Brothers want me to help you.”
My mouth rounded as I darted away from him, growling, “So youareon their side!”
“I haven’t betrayed you, Star,” he grumbled. “Temperance has. I met her, by the way. She makesyoulook sane.”
“Temper? You met Temper?” If I sounded bewildered, then that was because Iwas.
“Sadly, yes. I’ve made her acquaintance.”
“She’s not a traitor,” I dismissed.
“She is.”
“I’ve known her for years.”
“Longer than you’ve known me so you trust her more than me?”
“You’re standing here. She isn’t.” When he grunted, I stepped forward, peering at him as if he could disappear at any minute. “For a traitor, you’re hot. I’ll give you that.”
Conor straightened. “Jesus, you must be sick. I barely got you to accept that you like me via text chat, never mind in real life. And I’mnota traitor. You know me well enough by now to recognize that I’m not good with authority figures, Lodestar.”
He had a point.
Conor was like a teen rebel. He enjoyed hacking into shit because hecould. Locks meant nothing to him. They were only an enticement because it meant something juicy was on the other side and if it was being hidden, then he was curious about it.
I didn’t say that aloud, just muttered, “I’m not sick.” I didn’t think I was. My head hurt, sure. But that was normal in these high-pressure situations.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I-I don’t know. Yesterday?” Unable to stop myself, I moved nearer. My hand reached out to gently touch his arm. He tensed at the stroke of my fingers but didn’t pull back.
“We were supposed to be a team,” he gritted out.
Seven words.
Somehow, amid the many arguments I’d had in my life, those seven hurt the most.
“I’m sorry.”
What stunned me was that I meant it.
Traitor or not, I meant it.
He didn’t accept my apology though. I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t push my hand away so I didn’t move it, just stared down at how my fingers, speckled with dots of blood from where splinters had dug into them, rested against the black sleeve of his turtlenecked sweater.
I wasn’t the kind of woman to go gooey over men. I knew the depravities to which they’d sink better than anyone, after all. But there was something that always got to me about this one—his eyes.
They were soft.
Not in a bad way. Nor a weak one.
Just gentle.
I wasn’t used to that.
His voice was the same.
Even if he was annoyed with me, he never failed to make me feel guilty because he always sounded disappointed in me rather than angry.
