I haven’t heard from him since my incarceration.
To my parents’ consternation, it’s illegal to prevent a Laborer from speaking with a potential candidate if said candidate is willing. No matter the Laborer’s realm.
I’d mostly ignored my TL, not wanting to cause trouble at home...until a friend admitted she’d signed with Troika. In a moment of startling clarity, I’d realized we were—for all intents and purposes—enemies. I would be expected to excise her from my life. Even hate her.
I’d wanted to know why. So I risked chastisement at long last, going to a Troikan center, where humans in need of aid could request a meeting with a TL.
Before we parted, the TL assigned to me asked me a question that cracked through a hard outer shell I hadn’t known I’d erected.
Are you living your parents’ dream...or your own?
I’d scoffed at him then, but that night and every one after, I’d wondered... Why do I believe what I believe? What is truth and what is lie? What is real? What makes me right and so many others wrong? What if I’m wrong?
The wily bastard had planted seeds of doubt in the rich soil of my brain, and the more I searched for answers, the more those seeds were watered...the stronger they grew. Now the leaves are so thick I can’t see past them.
If I’m Fused, I’m not me. I’m part of someone else. Or several someone elses. But if I am me, I alone am responsible for my problems. Who wants to suck that badly?
But the thing I wonder most? Do I have a set fate, or can I change it? In other words...can I mess it up worse?
“What is isn’t always what’s supposed to be.”
—Troika
I watch him. At lunch and dinner that day, I watch Killian. When he talks to girls, he seems utterly absorbed in the conversation, as if every word spoken is a secret he has to know. And the girls eat it up. He makes them feel special, I can tell. They preen for him. But those girls...they aren’t special to him. I can tell that, too.
He’s too aware of the world around him, his hand never far from his pocket, as if he has a weapon hidden inside. As if he expects to be ambushed at any moment. As if he wants to be ambushed.
Anytime the girl looks away from him—which isn’t often—his gaze finds me. He winks. He knows I’m watching him, and he wants me to know he knows.
His confidence lends him an aura of power and, someone please help me, I admire it.
Later that same evening, Vans does as promised and arranges my “date” with Killian. The doc is upping his game.
First, Nurse Ratched delivers a dress to my cell. A pink sundress. Pink. With ruffles and lace. I grimace. I’ll be the prettiest princess in the asylum.
Her parting words are both a threat (to me) and a triumph (to her.) “You can wear it...or you can go naked. Your choice.”
A red haze descends over my vision. A choice that isn’t really a choice is a violation of my rights.
What rights?
“Wow,” Bow says, looking me over after I’ve changed. “A make-out session would not be out of pity today.”
“Um. Thanks?” I smooth my hands over the ultrasoft fabric. “I feel ridiculous.”
“What’s the occasion?”
As I explain today’s therapy session, her eyes narrow.
“Son of a Myriad-troll,” she mutters. She’s sprawled atop her bed. “Wonder how much Mr. Flynn had to pay for that privilege.”
I spread my arms wide. “Because wanting me is completely unfeasible?”
She closes her eyes as she shakes her head. “Sorry. Sorry. You’re hot. You’re awesome, and I know he craves a taste of you. Who wouldn’t? But he’s a piece of scum, and he always has ulterior motives.”
A grumbled apology, but an apology nonetheless.
“You’re forgiven. I guess.” I mean, even I’m wondering why Killian has turned his predatory sights to me. “Tell me your history with the guy.”
She growls low in her throat. “He sucks. That’s all you need to know.”
This girl has repeatedly pried open my secrets with a crowbar. She doesn’t get to keep her own. “Don’t you want to help me build extra defenses against him?”
“Are your current defenses in danger of crumbling?”
No. Absolutely not. But... “Do you really want to take the chance? There’s something about him...”
She points a finger at me. “Is that breathlessness I hear in your tone, Lockwood?”
What? “No!” Me? Breathless? Never! “I’m as hard as steel.”
She punches her mattress, the springs squeaking. “You want details, fine. He stabbed his best friend in the back—twice! He’s selfish and cruel. He uses girls to get what he wants, and then he discards them.”
“Are you one of the girls he used and discarded?” I ask gently.
“No! Gross! I’ve never jonesed for his scones.” She shudders. “It’s just...he’ll sleep with you and leave you brokenhearted in the rubble that has become your life.”
Bow, who is obviously biased, has probably seen a distorted version of the truth. She’s never seen into Killian’s heart.
Or maybe I’m making excuses for the guy.
“If getting down and dirty is his main objective, I’m the last girl he should target.” I possessed the common sense and wherewithal to stop James every time his hands wandered past my shoulders, and I loved him.
And unlike Killian, James looked at me as if he adored me. He smiled with me, not at me. He whispered beautiful things in my ear...
So lovely.
So soft.
So perfect.
I’d been as mesmerized as I was flustered.
“I’ll never say yes,” I add.
“Famous last words. If you find yourself tempted, remember Killian is selfish in bed,” Bow says, as smoothly as if we’re discussing our favorite kind of donuts. “Oh. And I hear he’s small. Like, micropenis small.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you tell me something about him that doesn’t have anything to do with sex?”
“All right. For starters, he’s going into this thinking you’re going to fall for him and do anything to spend eternity with him.”
“Why
