Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“The fuck...” He looks down at his hand. “Did you just throw a waffle at me?”
“I placed it,” I say, nodding. “Gently. On your face.”
His eyes narrow.
“You’re awake now, so…” I fold my arms. “Camille says you fucked her last night. After I fell asleep.” Okay, she didn’t say those exact words, but she may as well have.
The annoyance in his face breaks into a smug smirk.
He laughs. “Yeah, right. Bitch is lying.”
“That’s your denial?” I stare at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He doesn’t blink. “She’s lying.”
I’ve studied human nature. How people react under pressure, threatened, afraid. I’ve learned to look at what they don’t say, not what they do, and everything in between.
He keeps glaring at me.
“What is it, Venom?” He bites into the waffle, slowly shuffling back against the headboard. “Am I lying? Or is she?” His chewing slows around his grin.
“You’re an asshole.” And a hot one. Unfortunately.
He sucks the grease from his thumb. “Mmm, but you used to love that about me.”
Yeah… until you turned cruel.
He yanks me onto the bed before I can pull back, rolling over me and pinning me into the mattress.
God, he doesn’t fight fair. I know she’s lying. Or at least, his reaction tells me there’s some lie buried in it.
“Let me go.” A smile breaks over my face and I want to slap it off.
He looks straight into my eyes. “No.”
My laughter dies, and suddenly, my chest is too tight, this room is too small, and I’m beneath the only man walking this earth who can touch the scars I hide in my soul.
He brushes his nose against mine, then kisses me, shifting back a little after dropping two more.
I search his face, wondering if I’d still be a good human lie detector if the lie itself was the only real thing I’ve ever felt.
“Who were you talking to yesterday?” I try again, because this isn’t leaving my head.
“Nobody worth mentioning,” he repeats, kissing me again.
“You said that last night,” I say around his lips. “When I asked in the office.”
“Yeah.” He nips down my jaw, tracing the marks with his tongue. “Because nobody worth mentioning is still nobody worth mentioning.”
“Asher…” I say, but it comes out breathless and my eyes drift closed.
“Ivy,” he mimics, voice vibrating over my neck.
I chuckle when he bites my skin, shoving at his chest with everything I have until I roll onto my side.
He groans but lets it happen, landing on his back with his arm still trapped beneath me.
It gives me a direct, daylight view of the scar on his neck. The closer I look, the more I see. People don’t answer hard questions by being asked. Most times, you have to prod around the surrounding details before you can get to the center.
“How did you get out?”
He looks up at the ceiling. “Out of what.”
“You know what.” And sometimes, you have to tie them to a chair and torture it out of them. I’m not above that option.
He swallows. “It doesn’t matter.”
I push on. “It matters to me.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “It fucking shouldn’t.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap, failing to bury my annoyance. “You’ve always mattered to me.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Because how fucking dare I. I don’t get to say shit like that to a man I tried to kill. Or at least, he thought I tried to kill.
“Venom.” He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing hard into his eyes. “Leave it alone.”
Is he insane? I can’t let this go. There are a hundred questions I haven’t even begun to ask because I’ve been marinating in my guilt over what I did.
“I can’t.”
His jaw tenses, and the part I love most about him disappears under my questions.
“You’re gonna need to.”
Fine. We tried the codex way. New plan.
“The scar. On your throat.”
Nothing.
Every muscle in my body pulls tight. “Who’s Dovecrest? What Elea said at dinner?”
He shoves himself upright, the sheets pooling at his waist. “I ain’t doing this with you right now, Ivy. Give up.”
Heat prickles over my scalp.
“What happened after, Asher?” I push up off the pillow. “How did you get out of the house? People don’t just resurface with a scar on their throat—“
“Ivy.” One simple word and my mouth snaps closed.
He pulls on his sweats and I plant myself in place instead of getting lost in how hot my scratch marks look over his back. “I’m not doing this.”
“Then what are we doing?” I ask, and ugh! I hate that. I hate I asked it. “Because every time I think hey, we’re making sense, some shit comes in and reminds me why I can’t have the one fucking thing I’ve ever wanted!”
“Don’t.” He turns, and there it is. That cold, detached look I’ve despised since he’s been back. “Don’t make me answer shit I can’t.”