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Selina and I had been hanging out, talking about a show we’d started watching: Lost. She wanted to stop at the communication room to remind the farm to ready the chicken coops for the incoming cold weather, and I agreed to accompany her.
We didn’t expect to hear Georgia talking with her father.
Hearing their back-and-forth banter was like feeling dozens of small daggers piercing my chest.
Russ was willing to do anything to get his daughter back from the Reavers, and when he thought she was dead, he was ready to go to war with Cole.
My father sold me for a backpack full of booze and three trips to a whorehouse.
And now Maisy is with him.
Alone.
She’s only twelve years old. Too young for this place.
Another sip.
While I loathe Alistair, I have to admit, he’s been decent with me. He’s never forced me to do anything, nor has he drugged me. He’s never disrespected me in any way.
He just exists…with expectations…and so much fucking entitlement.
There’s no point continuing to think about it. My mind is already made up. I know what I need to do.
The door opens, and I look over to see Alistair entering the apartment, a dour look on his face.
He’s home early, which isn’t good because I’m not drunk yet.
His eyes fall on my glass and a scowl forms on his admittedly handsome face. “Drinking again?”
“How else do you think I should spend my time? Playing housewife?” I scoff. “No, thanks.”
As I’m about to take another sip, he pulls the glass from my hand. “How much have you had?”
Annoyed, I snap, “It’s my first glass.”
He takes a sip and sets the glass back down. “It’s weak, which is good. You don’t want to get dependent on that shit.”
“Don’t act like you care.”
“Believe it or not, I do. Or at least I did. It’s getting harder to give a shit.” He opens the refrigerator and takes out a beer, pops off the lid, and goes to the couch.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Because I’m supposed to be knocking you up.” He takes a sip of his drink. “But don’t worry, I won’t touch you.”
For the first time since I’ve arrived at the Keep, I feel guilty about how I’ve treated him. It’s a gross feeling. Like having sympathy for the devil.
There’s no running away from the inevitable. In order to get my sister to safety, I have to do something I swore I’d never do: give myself over to him.
But I have to get this right. There’s too much at stake for me to fumble the negotiation process, and I can’t think with him…existing on the couch.
Getting up from the table, I nearly knock over the bottle of peach schnapps as I gather my things to head to my room.
Alistair looks over at me, brows askew. “Need my help?”
Would it be so bad to want him with his sharp jaw and light dusting of stubble? He’s like a rugged hero in an action movie.
Mind your treason…
