Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(78)

My mouth twists. I wonder if Jayk’s bitterness is catching.

“What’s happening?” I ask, though I dread the non-answer I know is coming.

Jasper regards me through his pretty mask—impenetrable, except for those exhausted rings around his eyes. “It’s nothing that need worry you. We’ll make sure of that. You should get some rest, Eden. It’s been a long day for you.”

Hot embers start to smoke inside me.

“Don’t patronize me, Jasper,” I reply sharply. “And don’t flatter yourself. Today meant nothing.”

And, God, I wish it were the truth. I want it to be true.

I deserve better than all of this.

Jasper hesitates, scanning my face, and sadness sinks into his tired eyes. He inclines his head and leaves, the door closing with brutal softness behind him.

Bastard, bastard, bastard!

His truth-telling only extends to the past then, I suppose.

Is this my new normal? To be lied to and ignored every time something serious happens? Maybe I’m the wind-up doll, not Jayk. I do my one trick on command and then I’m to be put back in my box until they want me again. Despite my promises to myself that I can handle it . . . well, I’m starting to think that was the worst lie of them all.

Once he leaves, I look between Beau and Lucky, who linger like awkward teenagers. I know what they’re going to say, and the vindictive Valkyrie starting to grow inside of me wants them to do it. To lie to my face. To palm me off with another platitude. These two who, out of all of them, promised friendship and trust.

Maybe it’s another scuffle. It’s a snarky thought, but really, whatever it is, surely I can help? Do they truly think I’m so entirely incompetent?

When both of them hesitate, neither looking at me, I snap. “Well?”

Lucky rubs both hands over his face. The look he levels at the door settles into something ice cold. As cold as Jasper’s wintery goodbye. Beau is staring down at his bowl, and he flinches, just slightly, at my tone.

I push up from my seat roughly, throwing down my napkin. I start gathering plates.

Lucky’s cold expression cracks. “God, Eden, don’t do that.”

The bowls clack loudly against one another as I stack them.

Beau’s breath comes out in a low, pained gust. “Go meet them, Lucky. I’ve got this.”

“But—” He looks at me like he aches. Not a playful, hangdog expression, but full of real pain.

It doesn’t seem to make his mouth work, though.

Beau stands, then says gently, “Go on, now.”

Lucky reaches for me, then seems to think better of it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Eden.”

I duck my head down, blinking, trying to work out how many more bowls I can carry. They’re hard to see for some reason.

The door snicks closed.

“Put them down, pet. You don’t need to clean up after us.”

That does it. That one word is like a raw flame and my veins are oil. I’m lit up from the inside out.

I slam the bowls onto the table, and they bounce, spilling and skidding across the table. One shatters at my feet but I pay it no mind, except to enjoy the reckless sound.

“No, I don’t, because I am not a pet, Beau,” I yell. I yell and I want to keep yelling. “I’m Eden, and I deserve better than this, damn you.”

My rage is free and wild. It’s as if, when I filled my lungs to shout, I finally breathed in properly for the first time. With abandon. Like my worries and irritations have been suppressing my lungs, and every time I bit my tongue, I was cutting off my oxygen.

But, at the end of the day, oxygen is fire fuel, and it’s licking through my whole body now. Is it possible to burn alive from frustration? God, I do deserve better than this. I’m a survivor. I’ve fought my own battles for years. At some point this has to stop—I can’t be a pawn forever. Surely, I’m a knight. I’ve earned that much.

I just . . . can’t keep losing every match against them. They’re not playing fair, and it hurts too much.

Beau just nods, those hazel eyes of his steady and soft. It reminds me of the day I met him. How easily he soothed me. How all my fear just melted like hot butter under that accent and those woodland eyes.

Maybe I gave in to that feeling too quickly.

“I am Eden. A person, not a doll, not your pet. And I am. Pissed. Off.” My pulse races, thundering at my throat like a chariot charge.

Beau’s lips quirk at that, just a fraction, and I see red. I lift a bowl, ready to throw it across the room. I don’t want to hit him, I’m sure of that. Pretty sure, anyway. But I’m just so mad.

His eyes widen, and he makes a grab for my wrists, putting gentle pressure on the one holding the bowl until I drop it with a hiss. “Hey there now, easy. I’m not laughing at you, pe— Eden, I promise.”

“Promise? ” I try to shove him back, but, well, he’s strong, and my rage doesn’t lend me super strength. The muscles in his arms barely flex as he holds back my weight, so I make my voice like a lash. “Why should I believe anything you say? Why should I believe anything any of you say when you won’t ever tell me the truth?”

“Look at me,” Beau says softly, despite his firm grip.

I’m worried about getting snared in those eyes again. The woods are dangerous things, after all.