K.A.Tucker

could have slipped into the yawning shadows of the bishop’s residence and snapped the neck of that sanctimonious prick leading the charge.

“Oh my God, stop it!” I can’t help my laughter. “You’re not dying.”

He winces with pain. “I might, after your mother finds out about this.”

We’re heading back down this dangerous path again—where Tyler flirts shamelessly and I read too much into it, where I let false hope trick me into believing something that isn’t true.

You want to complicate your life?”

He reaches up to gently stroke a wayward strand of hair off my face. “I think that’s happening, whether I want it or not. Wouldn’t you agree?”

But would I have been enough, even then? This is what happens when someone hurts you—you begin to doubt everything they say.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”