Page 38 of Consume Me

I hated him for what he’d done to me.

And I hated him for what he would do, because I knew beyond any doubt that he would betray my best friend.

“Clara,” David said, not heeding my warning, “I can explain.”

“I doubt that,” I spat back. Edging along the wall, I moved past him and hurried toward my room, thankful that the door locked.

But he followed, sticking the toe of his boot in the door so I couldn’t close it. “Can I come in?”

He asked even as he prevented me from locking him out. What was this? Some holdover of chivalry, the remnants of our false friendship?

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I asked. “I’m your prisoner.”

He winced as though I’d slapped him. I didn’t buy it. But it was an act—all of it. He’d fooled every one of us into trusting him. He’d tricked us into caring about him. I wished I could hurt him now like he’d hurt me, but a man who was willing to sell his soul like this—how could I ever injure that? Anything I did would be like a paper cut when he’d inflicted a mortal wound. My life? My family? What he’d done to us would leave a gaping hole no matter how this turned out.

“I’ve wanted to come and check on you,” he said, taking a seat on the bed. His closeness sent nausea snaking through me.

“There’s no need.” We weren’t family or friends or even acquaintances. We were strangers. I knew that now.

“They wanted me to wait until…” He looked away and I knew I didn’t want him to finish that sentence. It could only end badly.

“Nice of you to come and visit the prisoner,” I said flatly. I had a million questions for him and no desire for answers. Because I saw how this would end.

“I didn’t plan this, you know,” he said after a long pause. “I didn’t mean to become friends with you.”

“This must be so hard on you,” I said dryly. “And we aren’t friends. We’re nothing.”

“That’s fair, I suppose, but I do genuinely care about you.” His brown eyes were as soft and warm as ever but I couldn’t trust them even though some latent subconscious affection called out to him.

“Then tell my husband where I am.” Something split in my chest and tears swelled my throat. “How could you do this? To me? To Edward?”

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with Edward,” he said quietly.

“You’re a monster.” How could he claim to love him and do this to him? There was nothing that could ever make me hurt Alexander this way. Whatever David thought he had with his husband was a lie.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “It was an assignment. I wasn’t supposed to get emotionally involved.”

“Stop,” I said. “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear how you’re sorry or you messed up.”

“I am sorry. I did mess up.” He ran his fingers over his closely cropped head. “I was in this before I knew any of you. If I could change things…”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are lying,” I corrected him, “but not to me. You’re lying to yourself. You have a choice.”

“I don’t. If it was up to me…” he trailed away, his eyes skimming the walls. Someone was listening. We both knew it.

“It is up to you. It always was. You could have warned us. You could have told us the truth.”

“You don’t know these people. You don’t know what they’re capable of,” he stormed, leaping to his feet and beginning to pace the room.

“I was wrong. You’re worse than a monster. You’re a fucking coward.”

“Clara, sometimes we hurt the people we love. You know that better than—”

“Don’t,” I warned him a low voice. “Don’t try to compare me and you. There’s no comparison.”