Page 3 of Tempest’s Torment

"Evan." Lucy's voice is shaking, the fear in it tangible. "This isn't the way to⁠—"

"You left me," he hisses. "You left me, and I know she put that in your head."

He looks at me, eyes filled with disgust and anger. I don't look away, don’t back down either. I need to look at him, to see what’s coming.

"She's always hated me," he says to Lucy. "You know that. You've always known that."

"That's not true," Lucy says.

"She watches me like I'm a problem, and every time you start to trust me, she's there." He tilts his head at me. "What did I ever do to you?"

I don't answer.

"Lilah." His voice drops, like a warning. "I asked you a question."

"You try to control her," I say.

"I made mistakes," he acknowledges, nodding. "I've owned that. I've been working on it. But you won't let her forget it, will you? You need her to need you."

"Evan, stop." Lucy shifts forward in her chair. "This isn't her fault. I made my own choices. I left because of things you did, not because of anything she said."

He looks at her for a long moment. "We'll talk about that later," he says. "Tonight, I want to talk about her."

He barely pauses for breath as he goes off on a tangent. According to Evan, I've been manipulating Lucy from the beginning. That every warning I ever gave her was me trying to turn her against him. That every time she questioned him was because I'd planted the thought in her head first.

Every dinner we'd shared and at every family gathering I’ve been trying to manipulate her away from him. He’s twisting everything, trying to turn me into a villain.

Then he looks at Lucy. "Tell me she didn't tell you to leave me."

"Evan—"

"Say it." His voice rises as his eyes grow wilder. "Say she never looked at you like you were making a mistake every time you defended me."

Lucy's jaw tightens.

"That's what I thought." He pauses. "Every time she interferes, you pay for it. You understand that, right? I don't want to be like this. She makes me like this." He looks back to me.

I understand what he's doing. He's telling me the rules of whatever this fucked-up thing is. If I speak, Lucy suffers for it; if Lucy defends herself, I do. He'll use us against each other until one of us breaks and gives him something he can call a win.

I keep my mouth shut, and it looks as though he's satisfied.

I watch him get to his feet, reach into his pocket, and pull out a packet of cigarettes before shaking one free and slipping it between his lips. The lighter clicks once and a flame catches. He inhales slowly, the end glowing bright orange.

My stomach knots. I know what he’s going to do, but the question is, to who?

"Evan..." Lucy's voice cracks. "Please."

He doesn't even look at her. Smoke curls from his mouth as he walks toward me; each step feels like a death sentence. I can’t take my eyes off him.

"No," I whisper, trying to pull against the restraints. The rope bites into my wrists, but it doesn't give. "Please..."

He crouches in front of me. "This," he says quietly, "is your fault."

Before I can move, he presses the burning tip to the inside of my forearm.

Pain explodes through me. A scream tears from my throat before I can stop it. Every muscle in my body jerks, instinct demanding I pull away but the restraints hold me in place.

"Stop!" Lucy cries. "Please, stop!"