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I pause and swallow hard. “They’re together right now.” Not a question, so the real question is, why is Ezra okay with it?

“Probably,” he answers. “I wouldn’t put it past them.” My stomach stirs at his clear admission. The way he says it, though… It’s as if they can’t stay away from each other, and he knows it.

He must not be in a good headspace about it.

“And you’re okay with them being together?” I say over the seat since I can’t look into his eyes right now.

“Stop trying to get fucking answers out of me, London.”

Jesus.

Is his desire for revenge on Micah truly stronger than his love for Naomi? Is that what this is about? Or is it about food? Only hunger drives anyone anymore.

“Whatever you’re planning to do, it’s not going to work. Micah’s too smart. He will see right through it.”

Silence.

I don’t care what he says; this is my moment, and I have to seize it. I just saw a crack in his facade, and now I need to wedge it open. It could mean life or death for me.

“You could let me go,” I tell him. “Or we could go find them together and end this feud today, no questions asked. I want to be with Micah, and you want to be with Naomi. You and I shouldn’t be together right now.” I sound desperate. “We can offer a truce… I’ll vouch for you, Ezra.”

I mean what I say, even though he certainly played a role in everything that happened. The question is, can I forgive him? And can Ezra forgive Micah for chopping off his fingers? Nigel plays off Ezra’s emotions, which is no doubt what he’s using to control him—to manipulate him.

I need to remind Ezra what his life could be like if he just let go of his hate. He doesn’t respond, but I will take his silence as a sign that he is contemplating what I said.

“I saw that it wasn’t you who killed Maison, Ezra. You did nothing wrong. I don’t blame you for Maison’s death. We were all there; we saw Nigel kill him in cold blood.”

“Don’t fucking talk about Maison,” he blurts out. “You knew him for a month, and you think because you were fucking him that, somehow, his death hurts you more than it hurts me? He was my best friend for fifteen years, London. So shut the fuck up about Maison. You cheated on him the first chance you got, and with his brother, no less. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as me.”

Tears sting my eyes at the cruelty of his words… at how little Ezra regards me and what I shared with Maison. It was real, and he was my first love. I shouldn’t have to explain that, but I seem to have to continuously defend my feelings for Maison and how his death tore me to pieces.

I’ve had the same conversation with Micah, over and over, until it was just easier to suppress my feelings to the deepest parts of me. Well, I refuse to do it anymore.

Maison deserves better.

I let out an uncontrollable sob. I hate that I let a guy like Ezra get to me.

Wiping the tears from my face, I straighten, my words coming out sharp. “I understand it’s hard for you to comprehend what I went through with the two of them, but I loved Maison with my whole heart. I’m not the one betraying him right now by siding with his killer.” I pause for a moment, my voice catching. “But that is exactly what you and Naomi are doing.”

More silence.

No aggressive retort or snarky comeback. And even if he did, I’m done talking… Ezra wins. We can sit in utter silence for all I care, but I hope the truth of my words rips into him and slices him from the inside out.

My stomach grumbles. The hunger pains have returned after weeks of not having them because Micah kept me fed. I don’t bother asking Ezra for food because I know what his answer will be.

He doesn’t fucking have any.

So I sit as quietly as I can, trying not to let the pain and hurt overwhelm me.

Fuck Ezra Schwartz.

Chapter Thirteen

London

Aloud bang startles me from my doze as Nigel barges into the airplane, his eyes wild. I raise my head as he storms the aisle and lunges right at me. I barely have enough time to lift my non-injured arm to protect myself before he grabs me by the collar and pulls me out of my seat, flinging me to the floor, where I land in a jumbled heap, lying in a cold sweat.

“You lied,” he muses, his gaze predatory as he steps over me.