Page 105 of Vicious Butterfly
But it can’t be words; it has to be an action.
“Marry me tonight.”
“Here?”
That’s interest I detect. I can work with interest. “Yes, here. You said you applied for the marriage license—did you get it?”
He studies me as if he’s unsure if it’s really me. “I have it.”
“And you made Ethan get ordained online.”
“I did.”
“What are we waiting for then?”
He grits his teeth. “You. You’ve been resistant.”
“Well, I’m not now.”
“I’m not above taking advantage of your moment of weakness, dollface, so be fucking sure.”
“I’ve never been surer.” I’m not even shaking. My jaw’s set.
He nods slowly. “I need a minute. Go change.”
Yeah, fuck. I need a minute too. But I’d also like to know if that’s ayesor amaybe. It’s not ano. Know what? I’m going to assume that’s a fucking yes. I’m not letting tonight pass us by without tying myself to him.
Tying him to me.
I’m scrambling without purchase, flailing, waiting for an impact that never comes. I need Tate to be my anchor.
For now, rage is something I can latch onto. I let it consume me before the darkness can. Because it’s dark in this head without Tate, who has somehow become a source of light at the end of my miserable tunnel. Isn’t that fucking ironic?
When I exit the office, I’m ready to charge at the first thing I see. People have collected. Staff. But as they are, clustered from the door to the end of the hallway, they’re like moths to Tate’s flame. Jaws tight, shoulders too high, gazes flicking in different directions, never staying on one thing for too long.
Waiting.
“Where isfuckingmedical?” I demand. A thin woman puts her hand up. “Somebody get in there,now, and remove the glass from his goddamn hands. And you.” I point to one of the men in black fatigues. I think I’ve seen him with Ethan before. “The boss’s office needs a sweep.”
It needs a remodel, but a sweep’ll have to do.
“But, sir, I’m a guard.”
“I don’t care who the fuck you are. Either get someone on it or grab a broom.” I look around. “Where’s Ethan?”
Down the hall, near the stairs, Ethan peels himself away from the wall, uncrossing his arms. His droopy eyes force themselves open. He yawns. Doesn’t the man get any sleep? Probably not, working for Tate. But things are going to change around here. If I’m going to be Tate’s husband, then I’m going tobeTate’s husband. Starting now. I’ll bend for Tate, but not for anyone else, including Ethan. And I’m still a Savage; I didn’t go through all that bullshit training hell with my father for nothing.
“You, come with me.” It’s a nice little Uno reverse from earlier.
“Yeah, yeah. I need to find a new line of work,” he mutters.
“Tell me what happened from the time Tate arrived until the moment you came to get me,” I say, unlacing my skates. We’re in the dressing room. It’s empty except for some scattered clothes and loose gear. Stale air chokes the place like a siege. There’s the steadywhirof a fan.
“Are you going to get undressed? Because he will melon ball my eyes out of my skull if I see you naked. He’s still got that fucking ax—tell me you saw the fucking ax.”
“Yeah, I saw the ax. I’ll make sure you don’t see anything. Now, talk.”
“I knew he was coming. I got a text from him saying he was jamming out on his brother early. He mentioned something about his brother wanting to meet up with his boyfriend anyway, but you should know he was looking forward to seeing you.” His tone’s sharp. That extra bit of information at the end wasn’t to soothe me.
