Page 71 of Liar

“You’re cold. Freezing. I have a cloak here for you. Stop being like a stubborn cat stuck on a roof and come over here.”

“They’re trying to hurt me, Thorne! And your dad has Malcolm by the throat!”

Thorne answers quietly. “I know.”

“How can I trust you?”

I hear his deep inhale before he speaks. “If you’re willing to have my cock in your ass, I’m fairly certain I own some of your trust. Now get. Over. Here. I’m running out of time before somebody notices I’m missing.”

I crick my neck, trying to stare him down through the branches. “Why are you helping me?”

“You’re really doing this right now.”

It’s not necessary to see him to know his eyes have turned to the same flat color as the slate on this roof.

“I have half a mind to climb down and leave your ass for the vultures, Ember. Eventually, some dipshit desperate enough to impress my father will figure out how to get to you.” He pauses. “With force.”

My lips peel back from my chattering teeth. “Fine.”

“Good girl.”

Shivers unrelated to the cold spread across the back of my neck and curve around my nipples. Even now, his verbal approval is full of sexual promise.

I shimmy across the ridge backward, getting closer to him.

“Just FYI, you’re giving me an excellent view of your ass.”

“Shut up, Thorne.”

My hands have gone from cold, to numb, to frost-bitten hot. That’s not good. I press down harder, scooting back until I hit the edge, wobbling at the sudden air against my butt.

Thorne’s palm presses into my back, steadying me. “Good. Turn around carefully.”

I swing one leg over, buttressing myself with both hands gripping the ridge as I turn. Once I’ve done a full one-eighty, I swing the same leg over again.

Facing Thorne.

His eyes have the sheen of a predator under the moonlight, peering at me through his cover in the trees.

That same predator holds out a hand for his prey. “See that branch closest to your foot?”

I look down to where he’s directed. “Yes.”

“It’s too thin to bear your weight. You’re going to have to do a little jump, but I’ll catch you.”

I gulp. We’re at least three stories from the ground. “If you miss…”

“I won’t.”

There aren’t many other options other than to hang onto Thorne for dear life. I inwardly groan. God, when did this happen?

His hand hovers in the air between us. “Make a choice, little pretty.”

With gritted teeth, scrunched shut eyes, and a prayer to whatever’s out there, I clasp Thorne’s hand and push off the ledge.

His grip is solid and firm. My feet are not.

My shoes slip off the bendy branch and hit air. I swallow back a screech as I dangle from his hand, swinging uselessly between the branches.