Page 17 of Obsession
I do the same, confused by his question. “What?”
“To the club.”
The question is so cold and direct, that for a second I don’t understand it. “No.”
His eyes stay on the road. “Did Varina?”
“No.”
“Moth found no connection between that club we met at and Rogue territory. That doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“There isn’t.”
“Were you there to get close to me?”
I laugh once, but it comes out wrong. “I didn’t know who you were.”
“Convenient.”
Anger finally breaks through the fear enough to give me something solid. “You think I planned that?”
“I think Canon had his eldest standing in my meeting with financials, route projections, and enough access to be useful while pretending you were furniture. I think the Rogues need the alliance badly enough to get creative. I think men do stupid things when survival starts looking expensive.”
“You think my father sent me to a club to...” I stop because the rest of the sentence is too humiliating to say out loud. “No. He didn’t send me.”
Saint just glares at me. “Then why were you there?”
I should lie. A normal person would or at least soften the answer into something less raw. But he’ll find out eventually anyway.
“I needed that night.” I look ahead at the clubhouse because I can’t say it while looking at him. “It had nothing to do with the Rogues. It had nothing to do with Obsidian. It wasn’t a setup or a plant or whatever else you’re thinking. I didn’t know your name. I didn’t want your club. I didn’t want information. I just wanted...” My voice thins, and I hate myself for it, but I keep going because stopping now would feel worse. “I wanted to be somewhere nobody knew me. I wanted to stop being Canon’s disappointing son for one fucking night. I wanted someone to look at me and not see a problem.”
It goes quiet for a moment, the chaos from inside filling into the silence.
Then he says, “You found me.”
My laugh is smaller this time, almost bitter. “Lucky me.”
His mouth curves faintly, but he doesn’t look amused in any simple way. “You didn’t act lucky when I pointed you out.”
“Because you pointed me out in front of both clubs.”
“You were standing in a room where men were deciding your future while pretending you didn’t matter.”
“That doesn’t mean I wanted you to make me matter like that.”
His gaze flicks to me. “No. It means you wanted to stay hidden because hidden is where Canon trained you to survive.”
The accuracy of it hits hard enough that I look away. “Don’t,” I push out, my heart beating just a little harder. It’s terrifying how easily Saint sees through me. “Don’t talk like you know me.”
Saint is quiet for a beat. “I know enough.” He huffs out a small laugh. “I know you told the truth when lying would’ve been smarter.”
I place the helmet on the bike seat before twisting my hands together in front of me. “Maybe I’m just bad at lying.”
“No.” He glances over again, and this time his attention moves over my face slowly enough to feel like a touch. “You’re good at hiding. That’s different.”
I don’t have an answer to that.
It falls silent as I drop my gaze to the ground. It’s like he can see into my soul every time I meet his gaze. Saint shifts in front of me but I hold still, bracing myself for whatever violence he wants to dish out. It’s what I expect of this arrangement, anyway, at least in some part.
