A hollow laugh puffs out of me, shaking my shoulders. I rub my arms, wishing the guard had let me keep my sweater. This sheer top does nothing to keep me warm.
Squeezing myself, I worry about Mom. What will I do? The clinic needs the money by tomorrow to keep her spot. Damn it, I shouldn’t have gone to the streets. Devlin’s cage was far cushier.
If only I wasn’t so full of stubborn pride, pissed off about the contract.
The only noise in the echoing room comes from me. If I strain my ears, I can’t catch any sounds drifting through the heavy door separating the holding cell area from the maze of the station beyond the hall. I imagine this is exactly what purgatory feels like. Harsh fluorescent lighting, hard seats, and a vacuum seal on the room that leaves you alone with your thoughts and your begging cries once the desperation takes root.
A wobbly sob gets caught in my throat, hiccuping to the surface out of nowhere. A deep sense of despair fills me as
I wish for some way out of this.
Come on, stars. For once, please, just…do your thing.
I tuck my tender, nail-bitten fingers underneath my bent knees, willing the wave of emotion to subside. Something Dad used to say pops into my head. Crying is for quitters. My lip curls in a fierce snarl.
I’m no fucking quitter. He’s the deadbeat quitter.
There’s no time for tears. If I don’t get out of here soon, Mom will be in trouble. I can cry when I’ve clawed my way out of this mess.
What will you do?
That familiar, snarky voice needs to get the hell out of my head. With his voice comes thoughts of other things, like the shape of his full lips when he’s pleased, the way he curls around me in bed, and the way his kisses steal my breath.
“Ugh, you freaking sap,” I mutter, tipping my head to the bland ceiling.
All my wretched thoughts keep snagging on Devlin. I’m sitting in a jail cell, facing the one thing I’ve been running from all this time, and I still can’t stop thinking about him. Am I pathetic, or what? It’s ridiculous how easily someone can take root in your head and your heart.
I wish I’d never found the contract in his closet. My throat stings with my next thought—I wish I’d discussed it with him with a level head instead of assuming what it meant. I never gave him the chance to explain.
The only way forward is to swallow my pride, enduring the cactus tines prickling along my throat the entire way.
Devlin is the only person I know capable of getting me out of this holding cell.
I need his help. If I have to, I’ll beg him for it. I can hate him later. Right now I need him.
I lick my lips. More than that, Devlin is the only person I’m more desperate to see tonight other than Mom, because when his arms wrap around me, I’m home.
There are millions of people in the world, and one person can make you feel a full spectrum of emotions. Devlin makes me feel vengeance, resentment, desire, protection, and something even more deadly—love. The kind of love that’s inevitable. You can’t help but allow it to consume you. It’s a love that doesn’t need rules, because it’s fate written in the stars.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, staring past the bars of the cell without seeing them. “I love him.”
Devlin challenged me, making me feel something other than the crushing weight of my life. I was happy with him, and now that it’s gone, there’s a gaping hole missing in my life.
I love him.
The bang of the door down the hall makes me jump, startled out of my ill-timed revelation. For a minute, my gut churns with worry that I’m about to get a cellmate. I wait, braced for a tweaked out drug addict or an angry drunk, but no one comes.
Putting my face in my hands, I sigh raggedly. My heart unfurls, giving off faint twinges of the hurt it suffered. I’m equally responsible for the pain I’ve forced myself through by running away instead of facing what my heart has known for a while.
The question is, if I call, will he come? He might not bully me in school, but I’ve sensed something intense in the way his gaze tracks me.
Well, if he hates me, tough shit. I need him, even if I’m still mad. Trusting Devlin is a risk worth taking.
What? I can admit I love him, want to trust him, and still be pissed at him. A wry smile tugs at my lips as I scrape my fingers through my hair.
“What a hot mess.” Hopping to my feet, I grasp the cold bars trapping me and peer at the door. I stick my arm through the gaps and wave, hoping the camera feed above the door will alert the unobservant guards I need them. “Hey! Anyone there? Hellooo!”
It takes ten minutes, but finally the door clangs open. I drop my burning arm, grateful to rest it. A portly officer in uniform strolls down the row of holding cells with a sandwich clutched in his stubby fingers.