Page 81 of The Next Lie

“You are not property.”

“Then stop saying I’m yours.”

“I can’t do that.”

Her eyes flash. “Try harder.”

“I have been trying since I saw you in that bar in Florette, Little Ghost. It’s not going to work out.”

“The…bar…?”

She looks at me like she wants to stab me. I would hand her the knife if it would help.

“I hate you,” she says.

“I know. It’s okay. You’re not alone.”

“I came here to kill you.”

“I know that, too.”

“I should still want to.”

“Yes.”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “But I don’t know what I want anymore.”

That is the most honest thing she has said tonight. I close the distance before either of us can make it safer.

My hand cups the side of her face, and she freezes.

“Tell me no,” I say.

Her lips part but no sound comes out. I wait. I have done many unforgivable things in my life. I’ll not add failing to wait for her to make her choice right now, right this second, to the list.

Her fingers close around my wrist. For one second, I think she will push me away.

She does not.

So I kiss her.

Not gently. Gently would be another lie, and I think I have enough lies between us.

I kiss her like I haven’t spent the last couple of years reading her handwriting and pretending ink was enough. Like every report with her name on it didn’t burn a hole through my hands. Like every mile between Chicago and New Orleans wasn’t both mercy and punishment.

She goes still at first. Then she comes alive all at once.

Her fist catches the front of my shirt. Her mouth opens under mine with a broken sound that nearly unmans me. Anger is in it. Grief. Curiosity. Want she’ll punish herself for later.

I take none of it softly. She wouldn’t believe soft from me. That would be another lie.

My other hand slides into her hair, holding her exactly where I want her. She bites my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

I groan against her mouth.

She kisses like she is trying to win a fight. Like surrender is acceptable only if she leaves marks on the way down. Her small hands are vicious in my shirt. Her body presses against mine, then jerks back half an inch as if she remembers who I am and hates herself for forgetting.

I let her have the retreat, for a breath.