Page 34 of You Were Warned: Part One

“But most of all I hate that fucking grin you’re wearing right now.”

“I can’t help it; I’m just so in love.”

My mouth falls open. I can’t even with him right now. “My entire speech was about how much I hate you!”

“I can work with hate. Hate is an emotion, my love. Emotions change, but indifference? Now that would be a problem.” His grin widens. “You notice my bells, my smile, what I say, what I leave at your door. You’ve practically been studying me. I’d say we are making excellent progress.”

I open my mouth to tell him how wrong he is, but nothing comes out, as the irritating bastard has managed to wedge a thought into my head that I don’t want there. I do notice him. The bells, his smile, the way his voice changes when he’s pissed off, the stupid tomatoes he brings me. Then there’s the fact that he always finds me in a crowd, and I know when he’s about to say something fucking ridiculous just by the look on his face. I know him better than I should, and somewhere between wanting to strangle him and imagining all the ways I could dispose of his body, maybe hate stopped being the right word for how I feel.

Fuck, no. Absolutely not.

I look down at his smug face. I hate him—I’m almost certain of that.

He grabs my wrist again when I start to pull the knife away. “What are you . . .”

Before I can finish the sentence, he yanks my hand down harder, and the blade breaks the skin, but he doesn’t let go. I fight his grip as he drags my hand through the first line, then changes direction, carving a V into his chest.

“You fucking lunatic!”

His laughter starts before he has finished.

“Let go of me!” I screech. The second he releases my wrist, I wrench my hand back and stare at the bloody V cut into his chest.

He pushes himself up a little, looks down at his handiwork, and fucking beams. “Now you’ll always be on me.”

For several seconds I can’t find the words—there are too many running through my head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I was hoping you would like it.”

“Like the fact that you used my hand to carve my initial into your chest?”

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

I climb off him, shoving myself to my feet. “Get up.”

His eyebrows lift. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes, to find someone medically trained enough to deal with your stupidity.”

He bounces to his feet, and I shake my head as blood drips down his shirt. “I think that is a specialist field.”

“Ugh,” I groan as we walk.

He follows behind me—fantastic—and now I’m responsible for keeping the island imbecile from bleeding out. I march him toward the gates, his bells jingling behind me, only once we reach them we discover they’re locked. I grab the handle and yank repeatedly in vain hope.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I pull out my phone—no reception. “Fucking Rue, I’m going to kill him.”

The Jester leans against the fence, smiling. “You will not kill anyone else. That is reserved for me.”

“It’s going to be a mass killing,” I grumble.

“As long as I’m first. Your first kill stays with you the longest.”

“Come on,” I spit, and start walking again.

“Where are we going now?” he asks, falling into step with me, not even a little concerned about the blood.

“The watchtower.”