Journey’s bruised shoulder lifted slightly, and I felt her smile along my bare chest. “Maybe. She predicted one thing right, so it’s possible.”
“And what was that? Did she predict you’d be released from the psych hospital? Because that surely came true.” I grinned as I squeezed the top of her knee, making her entire body jolt and causing laughter to fly from her mouth.
She relaxed her leg against me again as her laughter faded. “She predicted my broken heart would mend, and the one who broke it would be the one to fix it.”
I burned on the inside with guilt, but it was quickly soothed with relief seconds later. Journey snuggled up closer, quickly moving past the revelation, and pulled my palm closer to her warmth.
A few seconds passed by, and her dainty, soft fingers skimmed the lines over and over again, causing me to suck in a breath. “Well, what do you see?” I finally asked, peering down at her with hooded eyes and a core on fucking fire.
“I’m not sure,” Journey answered, grinning like the girl I knew before everything fell apart. Her leg hooked tighter over mine, and I knew right then what the future was. Another shift from Journey and my arm was pulled out from underneath her, making her fall back onto the soft pillow with both of my hands landing beside her face. Her misty eyes were wide, her pouty lips open in surprise.
“I don’t need someone to read my palm to tell me what my future holds.”
A tiny crease etched in between her brows as I lowered my mouth a breath from hers.
Journey’s chin tilted, brushing our lips against one another just to torture me. “You don’t?”
My forehead rested against hers, her sweet breath filling my senses and making me downright delirious with need. “You, Journey Smith. You are my future.”
Journey’s legs parted in a silent agreement, and her hands landed on my flexed biceps. I was still holding myself up, but soon, I’d be buried inside of her, proving to her that my words didn't need to be validated by some palm reading.
I was at her entrance as our mouths teased one another, and my eyes shut on their own when I realized my girl was already wet and waiting for me.
“Am I still your future even though someone is after me?”
I answered her with a thrust, pushing in and feeling us connect in ways that words could never do justice. “Yes,” I grit out before taking her body and heart.
She was never too farout of my sight. That sandy-colored hair always caught my eye, and I’d finally relax again. If I could tie Journey to me without seeming absolutely fucking nuts, I would. Each morning, I’d slip out from her room and go back to mine to get ready for the day, only to search for her every second until she’d walk into the dining hall with her friends, or sometimes with Tobias.
It had been only a few days since she'd been attacked, and although the bruises on her shoulders had faded to an ugly yellow, everyone was still on edge—even Headmaster Ellison. Although, he did get the security system installed, but unfortunately, it didn’t make anyone feel better.
The Rebels and I knew that any security system, even a top-of-the-line one, could still be disabled. Whoever came to get Journey could be a computer whiz for all we knew.
And that was the thing: we knew nothing—up until a few seconds ago, at least.
Isaiah’s phone was still in my hand as I sat on the dining-hall bench, waiting for Journey to walk through the doors. My grip tightened when I reread what his brother, Jacobi, an FBI agent, had sent him.
Jacobi: There’s still not much info to give. The streets have been quiet, but an informant that was working closely with your father gave up a name that could be related. The name is Slave.
He texted again seconds later.
Jacobi: That’s the end of me owing you, brother. Now please go fuck off. I have an actual case file on my desk.
It buzzed again.
Jacobi: Oh, and I’m coming to Uncle Tate’s to visit for spring break, so get your insults ready.
I snappedmy attention to Isaiah, who had the same tight jaw that I had. We ignored the last two messages as Brantley pulled Isaiah’s phone out of my hand, and Shiner, who was well informed of our past and future dealings with the illicit gun-running business and the Covens, leaned forward to read.
“You know we should follow up,” Isaiah admitted, just as on edge as I was.
I sliced past him and landed on Bain across the dining hall, feeling rage burn me from the inside out. I wanted very few things in my life, and one of those things was to never fucking talk to my father again. But I knew by the scowl on Isaiah’s face that he was referencing just that. The dining-hall bench was scooted out, and I easily swung my legs over it and walked directly to Bain. I heard Isaiah calling my name, but I ignored him as I crowded Bain’s space.
He didn’t move an inch, and although he had helped search the school the other night for whoever had attacked Journey and helped get Gemma back when she’d been taken, I wanted to wrap my fingers around his neck and body slam him to the fucking table.
“Can I help you?” His tone was insolent, which only fueled my irrational behavior.
“Who the fuck is Slave?” I asked, leveling my voice and locking down my anger. Throwing punches will get you nowhere until it’s the right time to strike. I bristled at my father’s advice as he taught me how to protect and kill. Fucker.