{18+ COMPLETE} For the past three years, Bren Hadaway has been preparing to die.
When he was sixteen, he watched his dad murder his mom. And ever since, he's been counting down the days until it was his turn to be at the end of a gun. And Bren has...
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"Caroline, get over here."
She didn't hear me. She was gone, lost somewhere in her mind. Tangled in the web that Luke had created. Her eyes darted between him and me.
"Caroline," I snapped.
It came out harsher than I intended, but shit, I needed her to get away from him. Fear crippled my ability to talk reasonably.
Caroline blinked, and this time when she looked at me, I could tell she actually saw me. Heard me. Even though her feet didn't move of their own accord, Caroline didn't resist when I reached out to grab her wrist and pull her to the other side of the counter.
She fell behind me, crumbling slightly and grabbing onto the edge of the farmhouse sink. I angled myself in front of her.
Luke laughed. "You always were dramatic, Bren. Always trying to be the protector."
He shook his head and leaned against the center island in the kitchen, elbows hitting the butcher block countertop Caroline had installed the other week. His dark eyes met mine. "Caroline doesn't need your protection, kid."
I glared at him. Like hell if I was going to believe that.
"I'm not going to hurt Caroline," he droned on when I stayed silent. Luke rolled his head to one side like he was bored.
I'd always thought that Caroline's kitchen was cheery. It was the kind of kitchen that looked lived-in, that hosted home-cooked meals. It was the kind of kitchen that produced apple pies in the fall and Christmas cookies in December. A little messy, a little disorganized. But welcoming in that way that a pristine kitchen wasn't.
The kitchen at my parent's place was never either of those things—pristine or welcoming. Meals made their way onto the table, but we ate to live. It was as simple as that.
There were undoubtedly differences between Caroline's home and mine growing up. But the similarity of this moment sent terror running through me.
"The last time I stood in a kitchen with you and a woman who I knew as my mother, it didn't end well," I said slowly.
Luke's eyes sharpened. "That was different."
I raised a brow. "Then you won't mind if Caroline leaves."
Caroline seemed to come to life at that. I heard her intake of breath and felt her presence at my shoulder. But Luke interrupted before she could speak.
"I do mind, actually," he said.
"Why?"
"I like Caroline."
I snorted at that.
"Well, that was rude," Luke said dryly.
"I like Caroline, too." I hated that I felt the need to explain myself. "But you don't expect me to believe that—"
