I have to be strong.
“I said wait, you cruel bitch!” His fingers wrap around my wrist, and fuck, I’m caught. He tugs me to a stop in the middle of the quad, and I slowly turn around to face him.
“Let me go, Saint,” I say in a low tone.
He meets my gaze and shakes his head. “You’re not going anywhere until I talk to you.”
“Let me go or I’ll scream,” I insist.
“I have ways to shut that big mouth of yours,” he reminds me. “You’ve been demanding for weeks now that I say those words out loud to you, and when I do, you shit all over them. What the fuck is that about?”
“I don’t want to hear you say that you love me because you feel obligated,” I growl. “Don’t waste the words if you don’t mean them.”
Suddenly, both his hands are on my shoulders and he’s yanking me to him. I slam into his chest and gape up at him in shock.
“I do mean them. I’ve never said those words to anyone before in my whole life. I refuse to believe I just wasted them on you. There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”
I place my hands on his chest and shove away from him.
“Why do you have to try and control everything?” I shout, completely out of patience. “I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t want this thing between us. It’s painful and bad, and it only makes us worse when we’re together.”
“You don’t really believe that. Not for one second do I think you really believe that shit.” He gives me a harsh shake. “Tell me what you’re hiding from me. I’m not going away. I’ve told you countless times that you’re mine. Mine. Whatever label you want to put with it, that’s on you, but I’m not letting you go.”
God, why does he have to be so persistent? So convincing? When he says things like that, I can almost believe that we could actually work. Releasing a deep breath, I slowly nod my head.
“Fine. I’ll tell you,” I murmur. “We’ll go back to your room and I’ll tell you everything, but that’s it.”
“You’re wrong.”
Once he hears what I have to say, I’ve no doubt he’ll want nothing more to do with me.
We don’t say a word to each other until we’re back in his luxurious dorm room, his intoxicating scent wafting around us. I sit on the edge of his bed, wringing my hands together until my fingers are splotchy and he paces the floor, anxiously carving his fingers through his golden hair.
Once he stops in front of me, I begin.
“You’re right about one thing. I am Ben’s daughter. My mother’s name was Nora, but she’s not Jenn. Jenn is … she’s my aunt, but that’s the reason I was at Ravenwood. Looking up information about them.”
Saint looks relieved that I’m talking, though he shouldn’t. “Okay, so I was wrong and my dad was right. Nora died in an accidental fire.”
I purse my lips as I force myself to continue. “Benjamin’s death wasn’t an accident. Neither was that fire that killed Nora’s family.” I snort. “Did you ever think to look up their deaths when you were making deals with your father? They died within twenty-four hours of each other.”
His entire body tenses and then he’s squatting down in front of me, his brow tugging together as he peers at me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Here’s the difficult stuff. “Your dad killed my entire family. He tried to kill me, but Jenn … she saved me. I have a grave and everything. Fucking morbid, huh?”
He goes very still but still doesn’t say anything, so I forge ahead. “When your father told you that Nora was dead, he thought he was telling the truth.”
That seems to jolt him from his silent stupor. “So she is alive?”
“She’s the reason I came here,” I confess. “She manipulated things in order to bring me out here so that I’d attend this school because of some stupid caveat to claim my share of the Jacoby trust. I had no idea who she was before I arrived. Now, she won’t leave me alone. She is everywhere and I can’t. Get. Rid. Of. Her.”
“Stop for a second.” Saint lifts a finger and closes his eyes. “Your birth mother is alive and you just met her when you came here?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Where the fuck has she been all this time?”
There’s the kicker. The question I’ve been asking myself for weeks now.
And I finally got an answer today.
Now he’s looking at me expectantly, and I lick my tongue over dry lips before I say, “Your father thought Nora was dead, but not because of the fire that killed the rest of her family. He knew she’d survived that.”
I can see in his expression that he knows something awful is coming, but when he stands up, his chin is held high and his shoulders are back. I don’t want to hurt him, but I know in my gut that what I’m about to tell him will be agony for him to hear.
“Up until five years ago,” I start, keeping my voice steady, “your dad was holding my mother captive. He tried to get rid of her and hired Ghost to do the job. And Saint, Nora said there were other women…”
24
Saint stares down at me, panic slashing his features, but it’s not the guilty kind I was afraid I’d see there. I can’t help but feel some relief that he clearly didn’t know anything about his father keeping Nora locked away like an animal. A small, dark part of me had been suspicious.
And I hate that. Hate how the trust between us is nothing but a frayed thread.
I wait silently as he processes my words. I’m not sure what he’ll say, but I suspect defensiveness and denial from him.
The words he finally speaks come out in a soft rumble that seems to jolt his chest, “I need to think. Alone.”
Before I can form any type of reply, he’s leading me to his door and I’m standing on the other side of it, staring at a solid plank of wood.
I don’t bother to knock because there’s really not much point. He can take all the time he wants to process what I’ve said, but it won’t make my words any less true.
Folding my arms over my chest, I make my way down the hall. I feel strangely numb, but maybe that’s a blessing. If I could feel anything, it would probably just be unimaginable pain.
I reach my room, barely able to remember any of the walk home, but the numbness means that I don’t really care. I shut the door behind me, sink down onto the mattress, and stare at the wall until my head hurts and the only thing I care about doing is shutting out the rest of the world.
Yet, even as I begin to be pulled into the relief of unconsciousness, thoughts of Saint continue to swirl in my mind.
I wake up the next morning with an anxious ball in my stomach. I don’t want to get out of bed, but I force myself to throw the covers back and climb out from their safety and comfort. Just as he was my last thought before I went to sleep, Saint is my first thought as I trudge to the bathroom.
What if he really does tell his father that I know what he did to Nora? That Nora is alive and kicking? What will Mr. Angelle try to do to me?
Would he try to use me to lure Nora out?