Page 102 of Merciless Heir

Something…something changed, like something cracked open inside. And I felt the same weird change in him. We laughed and fought and touched and talked. About everything and nothing and all in between.

Half that time was naked under covers, or fucking. Oh, God, having sex with him is a revelation that seems to have no end. It just gets better.

And we watched terrible TV and kissed and made love—no, not that, but it wasn’t straight up fucking. It was that slow lose yourself in the other thing that I haven’t done since…I don’t know. Maybe Damon. And still, this was different, another whole level I didn’t know existed.

If I wasn’t planted on the ground, tree-like, I’d almost think it could be love.

But it isn’t.

He doesn’t believe in love.

And me? I don’t either.

Love is for suckers and we can’t do that again. I don’t have room for feelings, but I also can’t regret it.

Not at all.

But I have three places spread over Manhattan to break into tonight. I keep going down the street. I’m hoping I’m right. I know who bought it and she’ll have it by now.

If I’m lucky, it’ll be at the first place I hit.

I get to work.

It’s the third place in the heart of Chelsea, and I’m buzzing with the old thrill. No one is here, which makes getting in so much harder. But I’m there, in the tiny room that takes me almost an hour to get into. I can’t leave a trace of me being here, which means I have to take my time, and reconnect every alarm layer I disconnect.

Lucky for me, I know Damon’s work.

The fake is good. Great. And it might take them a while to know the difference. Hell, I could just keep the real one and Kingston would never know. The fake would be enough to get him what he wants.

But I’m not going to do that.

Not just because it would prolong us working together.

No, I’m not doing that because I can’t. Not to him. Jesus, I’m an idiot.

I don’t dally, I slide the real one away, and head out. It’s almost dawn when I reach my door.

It’s locked, but when I step in, I know instantly Kingston has gone. My phone sits on the table. I pick it up and unlock it. Kingston has sent exactly one message, telling me to call him. And there are a bunch from Yia-yia because I still haven’t called her back.

I’m about to hit replay on the messages when the skin of my nape prickles. I’m not alone.

Before I turn, I know why Athena’s been calling.

He’s there. The man I hate. The man I have the kind of complicated feelings for that a therapist would salivate.

“Hello, Sadie. No hug?”

“Hi, Dad. How was prison?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kingston

Of course Sadie wasn’t there when I woke.

It’s her MO.

I think she stole it from me.