Fated Lies (Lies 3)

“We should sleep,” I say.

Langston nods. “Come here.” He holds out his arm, wanting me to snuggle against his chest.

“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you.” I don’t want to hurt me. I don’t want to get attached to him again like I did when we were kids.

I start to lie down on the ground next to him, when he reaches his hand out and yanks me to him.

“You can’t hurt me, huntress. Not any more than you already have.” His words strike me like he intended. But I’m not sorry for hurting Siren, just as he’s not sorry for hurting Waylon.

“And you can’t hurt me anymore. But if we both hate each other, why hold me all night?”

He holds me tighter until my head is forced onto his bare chest. I bite my lip, holding my breath and hoping he doesn’t push me off of him because this is nice. It’s comforting even though I know he can’t, and won’t, protect me.

“The same reason that you helped with my back.”

“And what reason is that?”

“Sleep, Liesel.”

He never answers, and I don’t ask any more questions. For now, we are on the same side against a common enemy. We are going to have to work together to get out of here alive.

Light shines in my face, and I open my eyes. I’m still lying on Langston’s bare chest; my hand is resting on his steel abs.

I let my eyes raise, but I can’t see Langston’s face. I can’t tell if he’s awake or still asleep. His breathing is slow and steady, so I assume he’s still asleep.

That means I can explore his body without him knowing. My fingertips glide over his abs, feeling every ripple, every hard protrusion. My hand skips over his shirt tied around his torso. It’s not completely soaked with blood, so the wound at his back must be healing. Then my hands stroke the thick muscle on his upper chest.

I try not to focus on how good he feels beneath my hand. He’s just a man who has a lot of muscle that encases a steel heart—a heart that only softens for his wife and kids. It will never soften for me.

My hand moves up his neck to his face before I realize that his eyes are open and he’s staring at my hand.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I freeze, but that only means that my hand is lying awkwardly like I’m stroking his cheek.

“Checking to make sure you don’t have any other wounds you’re hiding.”

He smirks and shakes his head slowly. “In the light of day, you can easily see that I don’t have any wounds on my chest and face. But if you’d like to see if my cock has any wounds I missed…” he winks at me.

I roll my eyes and remove my hand from his face as I sit up.

“Phoenix is a lucky woman,” I say sarcastically.

“She is—don’t pretend to be offended that I would touch another woman while I’m married to Phoenix. You had a similar relationship with Waylon. Not every marriage is about passionate love.”

“Why are you married to Phoenix?”

“It’s not time for questions yet. You can ask me tonight in exchange for answering one of my own questions. Right now, we should eat.”

“Eat? Unless we are planning on eating each other’s limbs, we don’t have anything to eat.”

“You’re such the observant one.” Langston nods in a direction across the room.

I turn and see a tray of food is sitting on the ground opposite us.

“How and when did that get in here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “We were both asleep.” He moves to get up, but I put a hand on his chest. He needs to save any strength he has to help us get out here.