Page 128 of King of Ashes
She brushes wayward strands of hair from her face, appearing calmer. “How long?”
“Until you give me a second chance.”
“It would be a third chance, and I’m out of them,” she snickers, eliciting a chuckle from me. “Idiot,” she mumbles, standing and straightening her pencil skirt before skimming her palms over the shirt stained with my blood.
The fight drains from her. “Perfect.”
“Sorry for disrupting your plan. I know you expected to unplug me,” I say, pushing myself up.
She lifts her arms in the air. “What damn plug, you asshole? You played me again.”
“Hypothetically speaking––”
“You love your hypothetical bullshit,” she grumbles, then storms toward the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of water. After gulping down a generous amount, she wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
Placing her palms on the counter, she stares at me, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
“You’ll get nothing, and that’s because I am in a merciful mood.”
I smirk, leaning against the wall to put some space between us, even if I want nothing more than to bridge it. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” she asks, gobsmacked. “Are you insane?”
“Most probably.”
She arches an incredulous brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “And then you’ll let me go?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrow into two slits, and I feel her scrutiny to my marrow. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s because you’ve always been smart,” I say, gorging on her presence after starving for it for so long.
“Not smart enough to stay away from you.”
“I’m the exception.”
She slaps her palms on the counter, spitting. “The biggest mistake of my life.”
“Ouch,” I say, rubbing my chest as if she hurt me. She didn’t because she’s full of bullshit.
“Two weeks,” she says meekly.
“And no attempt at killing me.”
Her eyes lock on mine, gleaming with a violent streak. “That will prove hard to uphold when you make me so trigger-happy.”
“You left me to die, Zara.”
She stiffens, eyes downcast. “The only mistake was not confirming your death.”
“You should have.”
It’s too late now. I know it. She knows it. And something else dawns on me: our trust lies butchered at our feet.
What will our future entail without it?
