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“Bradley won’t turn a blind eye,” I answered. He was merciless when it came to his rules and his auctions. We’d all gotten off easy the last time, mostly because he didn’t want a scandal. However, if we showed back up, if we turned his precious auction into a bloodbath, he wouldn’t let us off so lightly again.
Char’s smile disappeared, a glimpse of the real man he tried to hide. “If we do this, we’ll ensure Lorien is dealt with, that he can’t ever target Kenz again, but we won’t make it out alive.”
No one spoke again, as though the true weight of the choice had finally hit us all.
If we did this, if we went through with it, it would be the end. We could take Lorien out, save Kenz, but even if Lorien didn’t take us out—Bradley would.
Could we trade out futures for Kenz? Give up the years we might have left to buy her those years?
The answer was so obvious that I almost laughed. There was only one choice, really, only one thing we could do.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” I said.
It’ll finally all be over. I just wish I got to see Kenz happy one more time.
* * * *
Kenz
It was funny how time eased all pain. No matter how badly I’d just wanted to keep sleeping, to ignore all the pain in favor of unconsciousness, eventually, my body refused to sleep anymore.
So I’d slept in late, then gotten up the next morning, finding new clothes in my room, waiting for me, telling me Nem or one of the Quad had left them there for me. I’d showered with the hottest water possible, ignoring the way it stung on my wounds, especially because I’d taken off the bandages on my arm and thigh.
The clothing left for me was obviously an attempt to work around the scrapes. It had a tank top so as not to aggravate my arm, then a long, loose skirt to make allowances for my thigh. They were both black—it implied Nem might have picked them out herself.
After all that, when I worked my hair into a French braid, I realized how strange it was that I could do this.
My chest was a hollow pit, yet I’d dressed like normal. My life had fallen apart, but my fingers still moved in accordance with the practiced motions, like nothing had changed.
Noticing it didn’t make me feel better, though. It didn’t make me feel as though things would get better, that I’d heal and go on and someday look back at this like some bittersweet memory. Instead, it felt like a reminder that I had to keep doing this, keep moving no matter how bad it hurt, no matter how little I wanted to.
Just forced into another life, another path, following someone else’s plan.
A knock on the door made me grip the counter of the bathroom, telling myself to suck it up, to do what everyone expected from me, to keep going. One deep breath later, I stepped out of the bathroom and called for them to enter.
Colton opened the door, his expression careful and guarded as he looked over me, as if checking to ensure I was still okay. It made me laugh, because I had no doubt people had come in during the night to ensure I was both safe and still there.
I offered him a smile I didn’t feel to reassure him.I’m fine. I’m always fine.
He pressed his lips together but didn’t call me on the smile. “Come on—food’s ready.”
I nodded and followed him to the dining room, recognizing how nice the hotel room was. The night before, I’d been far too tired and upset to take proper stock. Now, however, the fancy furniture, the expansive views—they were far more obvious.
And yet, I felt as uninspired as ever.
I took a seat at the table, the rest already there. The fact they could appear so well put together when I doubted they’d gotten much more sleep the night before was impressive.
Not that I cared how I looked, at least beyond not wanting to cause them to worry. I’d created enough problems for them already, hadn’t I?
A plate already rested at the open seat for me, and the smell of food hung heavily in the air. Nem and the others ate—we weren’t the type to feel the need to wait on manners.
I pulled the silver lid off my own plate, setting the large cover on the center of the table. There, on the fancy white square plate sat an omelet, the yellow surface of it appearing perfectly cooked and the scent mouthwatering.
And yet…it left me cold. It only reminded me of the food Tor had cooked, the way he’d left the bell peppers off mine because he’d known I hadn’t liked them. I knew, logically, that this food was at least as good, yet it appeared as appetizing as spoiled milk to me.
When I felt a pair of eyes on me, I lifted my gaze to find Nem staring at me.
I didn’t want to cause any more trouble for anyone, so I picked up my fork and forced myself to nibble a little off the end. It tasted about as good as I thought it would, and my stomach rolled as I forced myself to swallow.
