Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
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With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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TW - Please note this chapter depicts abuse (unseen) so please read on with caution.
I'm dragged deeper into the garden. It's a combination of the familiar scent and body heat that calms my panicked mind even before he gently pushes me away from him - his hands gripping my upper arms as his eyes fix on me intently. We're surrounded by trees which are dripping fat raindrops on top of us. Owen's hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, even under his dark hood. His mouth is set in a tight line and despite everything, the tension I'd carried since I'd left the warehouse melts away. I want to move back into his embrace, but instead, I pull away from his touch, my back hitting the rough bark of a tree.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
He stands up straight, his lips twitching. My angry voice lacks conviction and I can see it in the way he moves forward - there's a renewed swagger in his step.
"I wasn't going to let you walk home with Leon and his mates about. I followed you."
I should be furious and I root around feeling for that emotion, but it doesn't come. Instead, I exhale and let myself slump against the tree. I let my bag drop onto the wet ground.
"I just needed to make sure you got home safe, but I heard the yelling. What's going on?"
I shake my head.
"Dad's known for a while about the video Alice was sent. She's upset. And he didn't seem particularly pleased that I've had an audience with Davey Taggart."
Owen's eyes widen.
"Shit, Calla. Why would you tell him that?"
"I feel there's not one part of my life built on solid ground. Even you..." My fists clench and I stare at him hard. "They found your DNA under Damien's fingernails."
Owen says nothing, just moves forward. His palms against either side of my head, staring down at me. Close enough that I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, that I can see all the tiny details of his face. The gold flecks in his dark eyes.
"So now you think I'm a killer?" He leans closer, his lips against my ear. "Am I dangerous, beautiful?"
I look away, still feeling the fire of his gaze and his hot breath against my skin.
"I've always known you were dangerous. I just never cared." I'm not sure where the honesty comes from, but lying feels so pointless right now. "I still don't."
He touches his forehead against mine and groans.
"I missed you. All this... it's been nothing. But losing you. I could have killed him. I wanted to."
I don't ask the question. I don't need to. And the truth is, I don't care what the answer is, anyway. Finally, he pulls away and pushes his hoodie away from his face.
"He came over. I told you that. The police know that."
"You didn't say you'd fought?"
He gives me a strange look like I'm asking something stupid.
