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August deflated and took a step back. “Absolutely not. Atticus can’t be trusted,” he replied forcefully.
Atticus remained silent. Rolling my shoulders back, I looked August in the eye. “I’m not going back to that castle, August. Not now, at least. Atticus is right. We are in danger and we need to take down Lord Nathan.” I paused to look at Atticus. “But we’re going to do it together.”
“I’m not working with him,” August sneered.
“You don’t have a choice, August.” I tipped my chin up and stared at him. “Because I’m with Atticus. I’m with you. And if I’m being honest, I’m with Leo, too. I ran away because I want all of us to work together. I want all of us to be safe.”
August shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re asking this of me. After everything he’s done. You have no idea what it was like, Christine. I’ve never been so…”
When his words trailed off, he clutched me closer, as if he wanted to feel that I was really here—really alive.
August looked at me with a pleading expression. “If you don’t want to go to the castle, then fine. Let me take you somewhere else, Christine. Anywhere. We can even stay in this—” He looked around at the dismal state of my childhood home. “Here. Just you and me against the world, love. We can—”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s all of us or nothing, August.” His face was conflicted, so I stroked his cheek. “I’m tired of being hurt and kept apart from the people I love.”
August frowned, and his grip loosened. “I don’t want you to hurt.”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to run away from my feelings anymore.”
“Christine, I can’t trust him. I can’t…share. You’ve been mine since the day I met you. I’ve loved you, adored you for as long as I can remember.” He looked at Atticus with disgust. “Am I not enough?”
“August,” I said, yanking his attention back to me. “Do you love me?”
His face softened. “More than life.”
“Then you will love me as I am. You will work together. For us.”
He looked at Atticus with a fierce glare. “I still don’t trust him. You lied to me, locked her up, and belittled me every fucking step of the way. You’re a criminal. A monster.”
“I know I’m a monster,” Atticus growled. He stalked toward us, standing just a breath away from August. “But I’m her monster. She loves me, even though she shouldn’t. Even though I probably don’t deserve it. So I’ll work with you, King Augustus, whether you like it or not.” He lowered his voice. “You got a small taste of what it’s like to be without her. I suggest you do everything in your power to never feel that way again.”
Without another word, Atticus left the room. There was a deafening silence between August and me. After I heard the front door close, I turned to August.
“I know this is hard,” I whispered.
“I don’t like him, Christine. I don’t like any of this.” I sighed and placed my forehead against his chest.
“I know,” I whispered. “But I stopped letting the rest of the world make decisions for me three years ago. It’s all or nothing, August.”
And I leaned into him, trusting him to hold me up.
He brushed a hair out of my face and traced the crest of my cheekbone with his thumb. “Alright. All of us against the fucking world.”
I nodded. “All of us.”
Chapter Fifteen
CHRISTINE
August’s face glared across the table with a vicious grimace. His lips were curled into a snarl, and his eyes shot daggers of hate. At the other end in a worn chair, Atticus sat with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring right back. In between them was the remains of fast-food takeout. Dirty plates, paper cups and cutlery cluttered the surface. I sat right in the middle with my fist under my chin, waiting for someone to say something.
“Leo should be here soon,” Atticus grumbled.
“Oh, does my guard report to you, now?” August asked. His eyes had narrowed to slits and his lips were pulled back to expose his teeth. “It’s not enough that the two of you were scheming together, but now you’re best friends, too?”
“Maybe he has more faith in my leadership abilities,” Atticus said flatly. “And do I detect a hint of jealousy? I didn’t realize you cared so deeply for our friendship.”
I dug my fingernails into the tabletop in frustration. Getting the two of them to work together was much harder than I thought. The wood beneath my nails was rough from age and felt like splinters and sandpaper—just like their friendship.
