Page 89 of My Forever Sin

Vivian and Heath wander up to a stall, picking out decorations for the annual Blackcastle ball in a few days.

God, I hate them.

Dorrian leans against a tree opposite me as he glares at me. I fight the urge to do something childish like pull a face. Then, he blinks away, eyes narrowing on a blonde guy approaching Heath and Vivian as they make small talk.

This is going to be a long afternoon.

Jordie’s hand lingers around the healing wound on her back as she watches the people of the town socialising, laughing, spreading the word of God as if He’s something to believe in.

“K!” Asher’s hand slaps onto my shoulder. Jordie and Cassie look back for a second, both smiling at the new intruders.

“Why haven’t you been answering your texts?” Blake asks.

They stand in front of me, blocking my view of Jordie, which only makes my heart skip a beat in my chest. The fear of letting her out of my sight is slowly getting worse. This is the first time she’s been out in public like this. I crane my head to look behind Asher and Blake to make sure she’s still there.

I’ve kept the USB stick I stole from Lacey in my jacket pocket. After this fair is over, the first thing I’m doing is seeing what’s on it.

“Kain,” Asher says, his head of curly hair appearing in front of my face. “Have we done something?”

I recoil, guiding his hands off me. “What? No.”

“Then why aren’t you answering your texts?”

“I—my phone's dead and I can’t find my charger.”

Blake snickers from beside me. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You talk a lot of crap, K.” Asher leans on a nearby tree, pulling out a cigarette. “You do realise it tells us it’s delivered, right?”

I bat it out of his hand. “Has that got weed in it?” I hiss.

“No. I’m not that stupid,” he huffs, picking it up off the ground again. “Little Jordie!” he calls.

Jordie turns on her heel, beaming.

“Finally, this might be more bearable now,” she says as she throws her arms around him.

While everyone engages in conversation, I keep noticing Jordie shifting her shoulders slightly, as if to itch her wound. I know exactly what she’s thinking. Her narrowed eyes are sussing out the place as if to estimate how many people here would believe her if she showed off her wound. How many wouldn’t label her crazy. After all, she was the missing Westbrook daughter for five years. Anyone could label her crazy. You don’t get sent out of town for no reason, especially with how hard they make it to leave.

I slowly shift my way closer to her, knocking my arm into hers.

She glares at me from beneath dark lashes. I can see her from this angle. That small, barely visible mole on her chin. The small slash in her eyebrow that you can only see if you really focus. She looks tired, her armour stolen. But she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

She’s vicious, determined, and all mine. Even if she refuses for now.

“Don’t show them,” I murmur.

Her shoulders pull back, her attention returning to our friends as she murmurs, “How do you know I was going to?”

I ignore her statement that has the most obvious answer. I know her better than she knows herself. “Now is not the right time.”

But where her attention would normally be glaring at me, her eyes are bouncing around as if looking for someone.

She seems to contemplate my words for a few seconds. Those pools of blue searching my face. “When will it be?”

My face relaxes.