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316 pages, Paperback
First published December 15, 2013
"And who is this person I've turned into, that I was letting myself become accustomed to this fate? (...) My love for Devon is my greatest weakness. It has me confused, blinded. Determined to become a martyr for a crime committed by my family.
Weak. This is not who I am."
"I wanted to tell her that every moment she let me spend with her was like heaven. Every time she tangled her hands in my hair and let me touch her in every way I wanted, I felt unworthy of it. That if she were anyone else, I would have loved her until the day I died."
"I wish you were someone else," she whispers and I hear the tears in her voice. My eyes open and I kiss her wrist hovering over my mouth, wiping away the single tear streaking her cheek with my thumb.
"Me, too," I say, and I've never meant anything more than I do those two words.
"I should have just left her there. It's not like I have an overwhelming urge to play her knight in shining armor. God knows she's not a damsel in distress. The woman is poison, like all the Moores are."
It's times like these that I forget. I forget that I’m essentially a prisoner, that the man I love is probably going to be the last thing I see before I die. He makes me forget everything.
"I fucking hate you for being my weakness."
I should have just left her there. It's not like I have an overwhelming urge to play her knight in shining armor. God knows she's not a damsel in distress. The woman is poison, like all the Moore’s are. Unfortunately, despite what people think about me, I can't stand men hitting women, and I'm sure as fuck George wouldn't have minded taking another swing at her. We may be criminals, but we're not complete assholes.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the tear that slips out, streaking my cheek. His thumb catches the tear, then he brings it to his lips, his intense eyes boring into mine, and he licks it. The sick bastard.
…
“Why the hell are you being so mean?” I never thought he would be like this. The Devon in my head is someone else completely. “I'm just being me.” His words are cold, emotionless. Realization hits me— this really is him, no matter what I made him out to be in my head.
“Can we just pretend? Just for one night?”…
“You said we'd pretend,” I say softly, moving closer to him.
“Leighton, fuck, I don’t think . . . ” His eyes are at the hem of my top, where my hands are.
“Don’t think, Devon,”
“….You are the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”
… “I couldn't get you out of my fucking mind. Every living thought I had was stained by you, out there in the darkness, my hands all over your body, your fingers running through my hair, your moans and sighs. I fucking hate you for being my weakness.”
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“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do something like this to a Moore?” A humorless laugh escapes his full lips. “And now I have the princess herself,” he continues, turning the knife over in his hand. “What do you think I should do to you?”
“Her beauty doesn’t change her blood.”
“Princess,” I say. “Apparently you ran off. Again.”
Her eyes water because she knows what it means, just like I knew. Nobody knows where she is.