Page 54 of The Next Lie

If I’m going to die.

She says it like death’s a possibility she has already made peace with, and something old and violent inside me answers.

No. I don’t fucking think so.

I let go of her hoodie and take her arm in a firm grip. She stumbles half a step to keep up when I turn.

“Where are we going?” she demands. “Nash, let go of me.”

“My room.” My voice is low enough to sound calm. It is not. “We’re going to have a talk about consequences, Reva. And you’re going to listen…to every single word.”

My room is on the ground level, tucked past the study and away from the places where everyone else drifts through the house. It is a space built for order. Dark wood. Charcoal gray linens. Bourbon. Leather. Control.

Usually. Tonight, control feels like a rumor someone started about me.

I pull her inside and shut the door. The lock clicks, and her spine straightens. She backs away, but not far. I crowd her before she can decide what to do with all that defiance, caging her against the heavy mahogany door with my hands braced on either side of her head.

I don’t touch her. Not yet. If I touch her now, I may not stop at proving a point.

“Do you have any idea what I felt when I realized you weren’t in this house?” I ask.

My voice comes out rougher than I want it to.

Good. Let her hear it.

“When I realized Ever had taken you back to that place? I felt like the world was slipping through my fingers. I felt like I was failing the only thing that matters.”

Her throat works.

“You don’t own me, Nash,” she breathes. “I am not one of your things.”

“No.” My gaze drops to her mouth. “You’re not a thing. But you are mine. There’s a difference. And if I have to break every bone in Ever’s body to make sure you stay safe, I’ll do it. If I have to lock you in this room until the Syndicate is ash, I’ll do it. Do you understand me?”

“I understand that you’re a tyrant.”

There should be more bite in it but she’s strangely calm.

Her pupils are blown wide. Her breath comes shallow. Her hands press against my chest, but she doesn’t push with any real conviction.

Her body gives her away. Mine’s been doing the same since she came down those stairs wearing another man’s hoodie and a haunted house in her eyes.

“A tyrant,” I repeat.

My hand leaves the door and finds her jaw. Her skin is warm under my thumb. Too warm. Too alive for all the things I feared tonight. I trace the line of her lower lip and watch her breath hitch.

“Maybe. But I’m the tyrant who’s going to keep you alive, Reva. And I think you know that.”

Her hands flex against my shirt. “Ever⁠—”

“Fuck Ever.”

Her eyes flash. “You’re an asshole, Nash.”

“And?”

That startles half a breath out of her. I lean in.

She could turn her face. Bite. Tell me no. Instead, her fingers fist in my shirt and drag me closer.