Page 217 of Red Marked

“Never.” He laughs.

“Thanks for all your help, Magma. We wouldn’t have gotten here without you. We’ll get those females out, and then we’ll make it known they aren’t dead. Then we’ll start looking for the males who were dumped out there. Poor bastards.”

“I can’t imagine it. Being tossed into that jungle. Having to live in your scales just to survive, day after day, until you can hardly talk anymore. Until you can hardly think.”

“Yeah. We’ll get them out. The program is working. Dr. Pryce is doing good work. Anyway, I’m sure you have things to do, and I’d better get ready for the beach,” I say.

“Lucky bastard. I’m sitting in front of the biggest pile of paperwork you’ve ever seen. Don’t forget sunblock.”

I laugh. “Thanks, Pops, I won’t.”

We say our goodbyes and hang up.

Then I think about getting ready to go out. The closest beach isn’t far from here. I flop onto my bed instead.

Star

He’s completely delusional.

Jett has been like this the whole afternoon. Pretending we’re together. Pretending everything is fine. Fetching me a blanket. Asking if I want the TV on. Telling me about his mother’s hip.

My mouth doesn’t throb anymore. I ran my tongue over the inside of my lip an hour ago, and it was smooth and all healed up. It doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen. He hit me so hard he split my lip and knocked me off my feet, and then he helped me up and got me ice like he was the good guy.

What the actual…?!

“What are we going to have for supper?” He’s in the kitchen doorway with his sleeves rolled up. “What do you feel like, babe?”

I feel like his heart after it’s been roasted slowly over hot coals.

Not that I would eat it, but that’s what I want.

“Why are you doing this, Jett?” I turn on the sofa to face him. “I don’t want to be with you. I didn’t want to be with you before I found out all of this, and I certainly don’t now. We won’t even get into how you sent a group of people into the jungle to rot. You hit me in the face. You made me bleed.”

“You made me do that.” He says it with anger laced in his voice.

Did I? I don’t think so.

“I didn’t make you do anything.”

He’s good at this. Blaming other people. He blamed me for sending that email in the first place, like I was supposed to know what it was.

Asshole.

“What do you want?” He’s opened the fridge. “Should I do steaks? No, wait. Your favorite. My shrimp linguine? The one with the chili and garlic. You used to lick the plate. I’ll make that. We can open a bottle of that sauvignon blanc you liked, the one from the Mainland that we couldn’t afford to have very often. I have a bottle in the wine fridge.”

“I don’t want dinner. I want to leave.”

“You’re not leaving.”

He shuts the fridge. His face hardens, then smooths right back out.

“I’m going to give you some time to come to your senses,” he says, smiling at me. “To realize we’re meant to be. I know you still love me. You’re in shock. You’re stressed. Of course you are. But you’re mine, Star. That’s nonnegotiable. The sooner you get there, the better.” He tilts his head. “I would sooner see you dead than with someone else. Now, please, my babe, let me pour you a glass of wine.”

Crap.

That was a threat if I ever heard one.

I look at him standing there in his bare feet, and I know he would kill me. He’d cry while he did it. Then he’d go and sit in my parents’ kitchen and grieve me all over again.