She hangs her head a second, presses her palms flat to the table. And then she looks back up and glares at me. “Stay away from that girl. Deal with Ria before Noctem, Maverick, or you’re going to hate that you didn’t.”
Chapter Nineteen
The next day, it doesn’t take me long to find Ella at The Ark, and it doesn’t take me long after that to realize she’s with Connor again. They’re back in the Guinea pig shed, even as night falls at the farm, less cars in the parking lot than there was the first time I came here.
It’s quiet in the dark, and I see no one as I stand outside of the shed, listening.
“Mom is home,” Ella is saying absentmindedly as the animals squeak in there, and I hear something that sounds like a piece of celery or carrot snapping. “She’s been home the past two days.”
Connor says nothing.
I press my forehead against the peeling paint of the shed, closing my eyes in the cold night. I want to hold her. I want to pull her into my arms, shove her into my car and drive us both far, far away.
Noctem is coming.
My sins won’t be forgiven until I’ve bled them all out there. But I still can’t stay away. God, I wish I could.
“How have you been?” Ella asks, as if she expects an answer.
My eyes flutter open and I angle my head, trying to see through the crack in the door.
It takes me a second, but I find a good vantage point, see them both sitting in small plastic chairs, side by side, feeding celery to the Guinea pigs which are swarming around their feet.
Ella has on that bright orange sweatshirt and Connor is wearing a dark blue jacket that hugs his frame, Carolina Speedway written in white letters on the back.
He doesn’t say anything to Ella, and she doesn’t seem to mind as she watches him hand a piece of celery to one of the animals.
I see the side of his face, his straight nose, high cheekbones. His facial structure kind of reminds me of Lucifer and I don’t like it, even though I don’t know why.
Connor isn’t ugly, and I guess I hate that.
I hate that I’m spying on them, too, but I can’t stop. I like to hear her when she isn’t with me. She speaks more freely with Connor than she does with me and although I hate that, too, I want to hear her voice. Her words.
Ella sighs, dropping the last of her celery onto the hay floor. Connor does the same, and then they both look at each other.
Ella has a slight smile on her face and Connor’s lips quirk into a smirk.
I realize I’m holding my breath, and I have a bad feeling that I’m not going to like what happens next. There’s a lump in my throat as I keep watching anyway, and when Connor takes off his glove and brushes his thumb against her face, I think I’m going to puke.
But she smiles at him, catches his fingers in hers and holds them against her cheek.
I realize my own fingers have grown cold, and there’s a sour taste in my mouth as he leans toward her, his hand shifting to the back of her head, pulling her close to him.
No.
I know she won’t do it. She’s fucking mine.
She’ll pull away. She’ll stop him. With the way she lets me treat her, she’s just for me. And I haven’t been with anyone since Chelsea, just a few days after I met her. And that was a mistake. A one-off, because I thought I could get Ella off of my brain.
It’s been only Ella for weeks now, which must be a record for me.
But she doesn’t care. She isn’t stopping him.
He angles his head, and she does too, her eyes going to his mouth.
No.
She fucking wouldn’t. Not after what I did for her: with her mother, Jeremiah, Nicolas. Not after what she did for me.
But she does it.
His mouth hovers over hers, and she closes the distance between them. I want to run, but my pulse feels sluggish, my limbs heavy, like I’m anchored to the spot by my own mind.
This is no less than what I deserve.
After how I screamed at her. How I fucked her. How I refuse to tell her anything about me. About my friends. My fucking family.
Amor fati.
Love of fate.
Some sick part of me does love this, this pain in my chest. Especially as she opens her mouth and I see his tongue sweep over hers, and she moans a little, closing her eyes. He pulls her closer, then he picks her up, sets her in his lap so she’s straddling him.
His hands go under her sweatshirt, and she moans again, into his mouth.
Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it fucking—
No.
Fuck no.
That’s my girl. She’s mine. I own her.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath in. Out. I hear her whimper and even though I know I should leave, even though I know I should run far, far away and leave her alone, let her be happy here with him or whoever she wants, I can’t.
I can’t do it.
My eyes fly open as she whimpers again and I wrench the shed door open. The Guinea pigs start losing it, the door whacks against the shed, and Ella jumps out of Connor’s lap and he springs to his feet, his eyes hard, his lips swollen, just like hers.
She pulls her sweatshirt down, and my eyes go to his pants, see his dick straining against his jeans.
For my fucking girl.
I don’t think. I just grab him by his stupid racing sweatshirt and yank him out of the shed. Ella follows after us, closing the doors and latching them, screaming out my name.
Screaming at me.
“That’s my fucking girlfriend!” I throw Connor down, but he doesn’t hit the ground. He catches himself, straightens, and his mouth presses into a line, his eyes narrowed as he charges at me, knocking my head back against the shed door.
His hands come to my chest as he pulls me toward him to slam me back again, but I reach into my back pocket and pull out the blade, thumbing the release open.
His eyes widen at the snick of it, and he drops his hands, backs up.
I know it’s a punk move, bringing a fucking knife to a fist fight, but I don’t care. I just want to hurt him. I want to carve out the feel of her skin on his.
“Maverick!” she screams again, and she steps in between us, facing me, her back to Connor.
He shakes his head and goes to push her to the side, but I stop him.
“Don’t touch her.”
His eyes dart to the knife in my hand, right in front of her face, and he drops his hands, looking like he wants to fucking kill me.
“Maverick, put the knife away,” Ella says, holding up her hands to me.
I see her red lips, and I think of his mouth on hers. His fucking spit mixing with hers. His dick, getting hard for her.
“Why, Ella?” I ask her with a smile, barking out a laugh. “This isn’t what you wanted?” I lower the knife but don’t put it away.
She drops her hands, eyes flicking from the blade back up to me. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, Mavy. It’s not what I want.”
“That’s not my fucking name.”
She quirks a smile, but I see her eyes are shining and I don’t know if she’s about to laugh or cry. “You wanna hurt me, Mavy?”
I scoff, eyes locked on her as Connor scowls at me from behind her. “No, baby. Never,” I lie. “I just wanna fucking kill you.”
Connor grunts behind her, and this time he does shove her out of the way, stepping up to me again.