Page 3 of Captured Immune (Secrets Trilogy #2)

3

TREY

The scent of freshly brewed coffee floats through the air. I pry my eyes open to find myself under a blanket I don’t recognize. It’s fleece, and it smells weird. This isn’t my blanket. Whose the fuck is it then?

I lurch upward. Something in my neck pinches. It’s a kink, probably from sleeping on my couch. Hold on. This isn’t my couch. It’s Arella’s couch. What the hell?

I shoot up onto my feet. The room spins.

Dizzy.

Wobbly.

I shouldn’t have gotten up so fast. I plop back down. Screwing my eyes shut, I rub my temples as a lame attempt to get the hammering in my brain to stop. It doesn’t.

When I open my eyes again, I’m still in Arella’s apartment. How did I get here? And why am I wearing only boxers?

On Arella’s coffee table are a glass of water, my wallet, my phone, and two small pills. Are the pills meant for me? They look like Ordinary pills. Well, of course they’re Ordinary pills. Arella wouldn’t have Zordinary ones. Zordi bodies process Ordinary medicines too quickly for them to work on us.

I down the glass of water within seconds. It refreshes my dry throat—sort of. I could probably have another glass or two. Maybe it’ll get rid of the spinning.

“Morning.”

I jerk my head toward the voice. It’s Arella, sitting at her small dining table, eyeing me with a hesitant look. Damn, she’s gorgeous. Her wavy chestnut hair is tied into a braid falling over one shoulder. Her dark purple dress drops to the middle of her thighs. It shows off her slender legs. I have the urge to trail my fingertips up her thighs and lick every part of— She’s still wearing it. The necklace with the golden angel wings. She’s still wearing it.

“How do you feel?” she asks in her usual honeyed tone.

“Shitty.” My voice comes out raspy. Definitely need more water. “What happened last night?”

“What do you remember?”

The last thing I remember is being a tragic wreck on my couch, guzzling as much forget-her-juice as possible. Judging by the way I woke up half naked in Arella’s apartment, I’d say the juice didn’t work.

I must take too long to respond, because she says, “You came over late last night. You were a little drunk.”

I’m too nauseous to have only been a little drunk. Usually when I drink that much, I pass out for hours. I’ve never driven myself somewhere. I must not have drunk enough to completely shut down my body. Either that or drunk me had a very determined one-track mind.

“Did I talk a lot last night?” I ask, unsure if I want the answer.

“A little.”

“What did I say?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Nothing, really.”

I can’t tell if she’s lying or not. With her, I never know. It’s one of the many reasons why this woman is still a mystery to me.

“Do you want some coffee?” she asks.

“I thought you don’t like coffee?”

“I don’t. I bought some a while ago in case you ever wanted some.”

That was thoughtful of her. How long ago did she get this coffee for me? Why did she even care to get it? Was it before or after she slept with that other guy?

I sigh heavily and push down the pain. I guess it doesn’t matter when she got it. What matters is that she made it for me, and it smells delicious. “Yeah, I’ll have some, please.”

She disappears into her kitchen. After some rustling around, she comes to me and sets a steaming mug on her coffee table.

She’s so beautiful. I wish I could have her again. Just one more day. Actually, no. Every day—for the rest of my life. Any less won’t be enough.

“Where are my clothes?” Wait... did we have sex last night? I’ll be pissed if we did and I don’t remember it.

“In the dryer. They were wet, so I washed them for you. They should be done soon. Your shoes and jacket are by the door. Hopefully, they’re dry now.”

I lift the coffee to my face and take a whiff. I’m glad she knows I like my coffee black without having to ask. Like how I know she likes her salads with the dressing on the side. Her pasta with white sauces, never red. Her strawberries cut into halves, never quarters, because, apparently, they taste different.

She also likes the toilet paper going over, never under. To her, I do it wrong. Apparently, reloading the toilet paper whatever way it happens to be facing is weird. What else is weird, at least to her, is the way I cover my pancakes with whipped cream until I can’t see the pancakes anymore. I don’t think that’s that weird. What’s actually weird is that she pours her milk in before the cereal. Like seriously? Who does that?

“How did my clothes get wet?” I want to drink the coffee, but the side of the mug tells me it’s way too hot right now, so I set it back onto the table.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?” She takes a seat on the other side of the couch.

“Not a thing.” I groan, mostly because she’s never sat so far from me before. The space is maddening.

“You walked here. In the rain.”

I raise an eyebrow at her that says, Come on. Really? When her deadpan expression doesn’t falter, I let out a low chuckle. “I must have been insane.”

“I think you just needed someone to talk to.”

I hope I didn’t say anything stupid. My past drunk experiences tell me I probably did. According to Liz, the saying “A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts” rings true for me.

Liz and I are so close that a lot of people think we have romantic feelings for each other. Whenever Liz wants to shut them up, she tells them the story of the time I got so drunk, I booty-called her at two in the morning. Except, it wasn’t a booty call at all.

According to her, I begged her to come over because I had something important to tell her that could only be said in person. When she arrived, I spent the next hour lamenting over how much I loved her, as a friend of course, and how if she ever disowned me, I’d jump off a cliff. Not once did I make a move. Liz says that if drunk me wasn’t interested in her sexually, then sober me isn’t either.

I sure as hell am interested in Arella that way, though, which is why I’m glad I didn’t force myself on her last night. At least, I hope I didn’t.

I don’t want to be away from her, but my bladder is killing me. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course.”

After a long piss, I wash my hands and examine myself in the mirror. I look like hell. Messy hair, pale face, and saggy eye bags. No wonder she left me. Who’d want this?

I do a quick sniff test to check my breath. Gross. It smells like rancid food that’s been in a Tupperware for two weeks too long.

I crack the door open. “Arella?”

She answers from the living room. “Yeah?”

“Is my toothbrush still here?”

“Top left drawer.”

I pull it open to find a bunch of those free toothbrushes from the dentist, still in the package. Next to those is the one I used the one time I stayed over. I scrub my mouth out with it. Once I’m done, I do another sniff test. Much better. It no longer smells like alcohol. The last thing I want is to trigger bad memories for her. Damn it. I probably did last night. I’ll have to ask her if I did, so I can apologize for it.

I place the toothbrush next to hers, then twist around to dry my hands off. The towel rack is empty. Instead of a towel, what greets me is a giant hole in the wall. Did I do that? I can’t tell how fresh it is.

I feel around the floor for any debris. Nothing. Maybe she cleaned it up. Maybe that’s why there’s no towel. Maybe she used the towel to wipe up the mess I made.

I pat my hands off on my boxers, then ball up my punching fist. My heart races as I insert it into the hole. It fits. Fuck.

I’m prone to violence when I’m drunk, but never have I directed it at a woman. If I tried to have sex with Arella last night and she denied me, would I have hit her? If I did, I’ll never forgive myself.

I crack the door open again. “Arella?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you come here?”

Her soft footsteps shuffle across the carpet until she appears in the doorway.

“Did I hurt you last night?” I stare into her eyes, trying to figure out her emotions. I can’t allow her to lie to me about this one. Like always, I sense nothing, and her blank expression gives me no answers.

“No,” she answers easily.

I scan her face for any bruises, then her arms. Clear. Clear. I’m tempted to rip that dress off her body so I can check the rest of her. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Then where the hell did that come from?” I point a firm finger at the gaping hole.

She hesitates, and it scares me. Maybe she’s too afraid to admit I hurt her, like it’ll spare my feelings or some shit. Hell no. Fuck my feelings. If I hurt her, I need to know so I can make sure it never happens again.

I cup her face and tilt her head up to stare her dead in the eyes. “Babe, if I hurt you, you can tell me. I’ll make it right.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Trey. That was from Nathan a long time ago.”

I think she’s telling the truth. If so, how have I never seen this hole before? I guess, now that I think about it, I haven’t been in her bathroom much. The first time was when I shoved her ex into the bathtub. I was too focused on making sure he knew who was in charge to even look at the walls. The time after that was when I stayed over. She must have kept this hole concealed with a towel.

I let out a breath, then release her from my grasp. “You’ve gotta tell me if he ever tries to touch you again, okay? It doesn’t matter what time, or day, or place I’m at. Call me and I’ll come running. Understand?”

She nods with a look in her eyes I don’t recognize. All that time spent studying this woman, and here I am, still trying to figure her out.

Together, we make our way back to her living room, where I dump myself over her couch. My brain rattles inside my skull. I should have sat down slower.

“The dryer has about ten minutes left.” Arella sits, still keeping space between us. “Are you hungry? I could make you some breakfast?”

“Why are you being so nice to me? After the way I spoke to you last week, I don’t deserve your kindness. I can’t even believe you allowed me in last night.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you out in the rain.”

I scoff. “You should have.”

She fidgets with the end of her braid, looking anywhere but at me. I can’t feel it, but I know she’s sad. She’s usually pretty smiley around me, and now she’s not.

Make her feel better. How? Apologize . For what? For being a worthless piece of shit. For doing whatever it was that made her turn to someone else.

“Arella...” I say softly. “I’m sorry for being such an ass to you.”

She nods, pursing her lips. “Yeah, you were an ass.”

A tiny smile spreads across my lips. I’ve never heard her say that word before.

“I’m also sorry for, ya know... what you saw.” I run a hand through my hair, pulling at it. “I shouldn’t have allowed her to—I just wasn’t thinking straight because... you told me that you’re pr—” Breathe . “It’s impossible for...” Deep breath. “I felt so...” Crushed . My hands shake. I fold them together as if it’ll stop the shaking. “Sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“I get your point.”

The room goes quiet. She focuses her attention on the floor while I focus all my attention on her. Little wisps of hair fall from her braid, framing cheeks that I want so badly to kiss. Just last week, I was picking her up, tossing her over my shoulder, and carrying her to my bedroom to kiss every inch of her. Now she’s carrying a tiny human inside her that she’ll be kissing within nine months. It’s crazy how fast things can change—and not in my favor. There’s a very short list of the things I wouldn’t do to make that baby mine.

“Have you told him?” I try to keep my tone impassive as if thinking of her with someone else isn’t killing me at all.

She looks up at me. “Huh?”

I glance at her stomach, then back up at her face. “The father. Have you told him?”

Her answer comes too quickly. “Yeah.”

I expected her to say something about how I am the father. She didn’t deny the infidelity this time. Is this it? Is she done denying it? Am I finally going to hear the truth from her lips?

“How did he take it?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “He wasn’t too happy about it.”

My voice cracks as I find the courage to ask, “Who is he?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Some guy I reconnected with from college.”

Seriously? She threw away our passionate, sappy romance-movie-worthy relationship for some guy? I thought hearing her admit it would make me feel better. It doesn’t. The wound has only gotten deeper.

“What’s his—never mind. I don’t wanna know his name.” I’ll probably end up in z-prison for crimes even the Enforcers would throw up reading about. “When did it start?”

“A while ago.”

“When?” I snap.

She lets out a long sigh. “It—it was before I started living with you.”

I guess that makes sense, but... “How did you ever find the time to see him once you moved in? We were always together.”

“Sometimes I got off work early and didn’t tell you.”

That makes my throat tighten. How many times did she leave work early to bang him, then came home to me, acting all innocent?

The clock on her wall reads nine thirty. She’s usually at work by now.

“Are you off today?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.

“My nanny family is on vacation right now, and I don’t work at the daycare anymore.”

“Why not?”

She stares at her lap as she picks at her fingernails. “They, um, let me go.”

“What for?” Arella works hard, and she’s great with kids. I can’t imagine why they’d fire her.

“Overstaffed,” she says coolly. “I was just one of the many people they chose to cut.”

Overstaffed? I thought they were under staffed. At least, that’s what I gathered from the many conversations I overheard between her and Javina. Either way, if Arella’s down a job, that means she needs money.

Wait... Is that why she came home early that day? Was that the day they fired her? No wonder she told me to pay child support. She’s gonna need it. But what about the father of her child? Shouldn’t he be— Oh no.

My heart sinks into my stomach. “Is he staying with you... and the—um, baby?”

She keeps picking at her fingernails like there’s something stuck under there when I know there isn’t. Patiently, I wait for an answer. It never comes.

“Arella?”

She still doesn’t look at me.

I lean in closer to her. “Arella, please, tell me he’s planning to take care of you.”

A single teardrop rolls down her cheek as she sucks in a deep breath. She wipes it away with the back of her hand. “No, he’s not.”

“That son of a bitch.” Nothing could ever get me to leave my child. Not money. Not a death threat. Nothing. Growing up without parents is something I’d never wish on anyone.

I was the kid who got stuck hearing about all the presents the other kids woke up to on Christmas mornings. All I ever woke up to was another day of wishing my parents weren’t dead. Other kids had things like family dinners and birthday parties. I had an abusive uncle who banished me to my room just for breathing the wrong way. Other kids spent their childhoods riding bikes and playing video games. I spent mine doing odd jobs so I could make enough money to buy myself new clothes. A hard life is not what I want for this child.

I have to do something. “Go get me your bank account and routing number.”

Arella’s face crumples. “Why?”

“I’ll send you some money.” Ten grand should be enough, right? How about fifty? I know nothing about how much it costs to raise a child. A hundred grand? A million?

Last week, in the heat of the moment, I told Arella she wouldn’t be getting a dime from me to support another man’s child. Now here I am, about to transfer her a million dollars. I guess her scheme worked. Pretend not to want my money, with hopes that I’ll hand it over myself. Genius. I don’t even care. I’ll sleep better knowing she’s got enough to take care of herself and this baby.

“I don’t want your money,” she says.

“What?” I expected her to jump up to retrieve those bank numbers for me. “Arella, you’re down a job, expecting an infant, and that good-for-nothing girlfriend thief has run away. What the hell are you gonna do?”

“I’ll figure it out. I always have.”

“Just go get me those numbers.” I wave a shooing hand at her, then I grab my phone off the coffee table. I’ve already got my online bank account username typed in when she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I said I don’t want your money.”

I swear this woman makes it a point to be difficult. My tone comes out rough. “If you’re not gonna accept it for yourself or the baby, then do it for me. I promise you, there are no strings att?—”

“I said no.”

I groan and chuck my phone back onto the table. “You don’t make any sense. Why would you screw around, get pregnant, try to convince me it’s mine, then refuse to accept any money? What are you trying to gain?”

“Nothing.”

I’m losing my mind. “Is this some kind of sick game to you? Playing with my heart?”

She dips her eyebrows at me like she’s offended. “No.”

“Do you just enjoy torturing me?”

“Of course not.”

I throw my hands into the air. “Then what? Why won’t you take my money?”

“Because!” she yells. “I don’t want it!”

The room goes silent.

I feel like shit, and it’s not from the hangover. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at her. I want to apologize, but what ends up coming out is a broken “What was I missing?”

“Huh?”

“You know...” I choke up a little. “What does he have that I don’t?”

She lets out an exasperated groan. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

My tone goes soft and desperate. “Please, Arella. Just tell me.” And don’t try to spare my feelings. I’m already a fucking mess.

“I don’t know, Trey.”

“Yes, you do. There was obviously something that made you choose him over me. What was it?”

“I don’t know. I guess he just... he just made me happy.”

An invisible dagger stabs me right in the chest. I swallow, but it does nothing to ease the ache. My gaze falls to my feet. “I... I... I thought I made you happy.”

At least, she seemed happy. She laughed a lot. I made it a point to get her to smile as much as I could. What could I have done more?

I should stop asking her questions, because every answer she gives only breaks me more. The smart thing to do would be to leave. I got what I wanted: to hear the truth from her. I should be done here. So why don’t I want to go?

I’ve never been known to do the smart thing, so I ask another question. “Do you love him?”

She gets to her feet. “I’m done with this.”

I steal her hand, pulling her back down. She comes willingly, and I lift her chin to look her in the eyes. “Arella, please. Tell me. Do you love him?”

“No.”

It might be foolish of me, but I believe her. The sincerity in her eyes tells me it’s the truth, and I’m relieved. On the back of our photo, she wrote that she loves me , not him. As pathetic as it is, I want that to be true.

A loud, mechanic buzzing sound comes from her hallway, startling me.

“That’s the dryer.” She releases herself from my grasp. I’m left feeling hollow as she disappears from my sight.

She returns with my clothes in hand. They’re warm as I dress myself. I guess this is my cue to leave.

I shove my phone and wallet into my pockets. “Where are my keys?”

“You walked here, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right.” I press a hand against the side of the coffee mug I forgot I had. It’s cooled down enough for me to drink, so I down it all in one breath.

“Would you like a ride home?” she asks as I rinse the mug out in her kitchen sink.

“No, thanks.” I don’t deserve anything she’s got to offer.

“Can I call you an Uber?” she asks as I slip into my shoes. They’re still kinda damp. I shove my feet in anyway.

“I can walk.”

“That’s a long walk, Trey.”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks again for the coffee.” I open the door, then turn to get one last look at her. She’s hugging herself in a way that makes me want to hold her. She only ever hugs herself like that when something’s wrong. I don’t wanna leave. I also don’t have any reason to stay, so I suck it up and step out.

The bright-ass sun scorches my pupils, making my head spin. I only get four steps away from Arella’s door before realizing I’m too fucking hungover to be doing this. What makes me think I can walk home when I can barely see straight? Add the heavy burning in my chest, and I’m in no condition to be walking anywhere.

I drag my phone out to call an Uber, then stop. I wanted a reason to keep seeing her, didn’t I?

Knock-knock.

She answers the door immediately, as if she was just on the other side, waiting for me to come back. She gazes up at me with wide eyes, looking so adorable, I could pick her up, crash my lips against hers, and never let her go.

Resisting the urge to do all that, I scratch the back of my head. “So, um, on second thought, I’d appreciate a lift.”

Without a word, she nods and grabs her purse.

I slouch into her passenger seat as I glare out the window. The blazing sun is still burning my eyes. Arella doesn’t turn the radio on as she backs her car out of its parking spot.

I bought her this car three weeks ago. At that time, I would have bought her anything she wanted. Apparently, I’m still willing to do that. If she calls me up tomorrow, next month, or even years from now asking for money, I’ll hand it over in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

If for some reason I’m broke, I’ll get a fucking job just to be able to send her something. One way or another, I will make sure Arella’s baby is taken care of. If she won’t accept my money now, she’ll be accepting a mountain of diapers on her doorstep in nine months.

The silence between us has never been louder. Typically, when we’re in the car, we’re holding hands or I’ve got my palm over her thigh. Right now, we might as well be on separate ends of the earth.

At our first stoplight, Arella breaks the silence. “How would you like me to give you monthly payments for this car?”

“Don’t worry ’bout it.”

“I told you, Trey, I won’t be accepting this car if you don’t accept payments for it.”

“And I told you it’s a gift. No matter what the circumstances are, that hasn’t changed.”

The traffic light turns green, then she eases onto the gas. “Since I’m assuming you won’t be cashing any checks with my name on it, I’ll just drop off some cash for you once a month in an envelope.”

I shut my eyes and rub my forehead. “I swear, it’s like you do everything in your power to be difficult.”

“I wouldn’t have to be difficult if you didn’t make everything so complicated.”

I jerk my head back and point at my chest. “Me? I make everything complicated?”

“Yes. I never asked you to buy me a car. I mean, who gifts their girlfriend a brand-new car after only knowing them for two months?”

“I didn’t buy you this damn car to complicate anything. I bought it to fix a problem. You needed a vehicle, so I got you one.”

“Which I want to pay you back for.”

I huff. “Arella, if I find any cash on my doorstep, I will take every cent of it plus triple to buy you a crib made of gold and baby clothes imported from a fucking palace. Do you understand?” I expect her to give in. I want her to. Of course, she doesn’t.

“Fine. In that case, I’ll be leaving this car in your driveway next week with the keys in it after I buy myself a new one.”

I shake my head, biting my lip. “You’re so goddamn difficult.”

She simply stares out the windshield. “So are you.”

“We can fight about this all you want, but I’m telling you, if this car is left in my driveway, I’m driving it straight back to your place. We can play that game for as long as it takes for you to get it through your head that this vehicle is yours and I don’t want anything for it.”

The car goes quiet until Arella chuckles to herself.

Obviously, I’ve missed the joke. “What’s so funny?”

“Whenever we argue, it’s always over paying for things. We fought for days when you first bought me this car. We even bickered in the middle of a grocery store at four in the morning over who was buying all those pregnancy tests. Now here we are, still fighting because I want to feel independent and you refuse to allow it.”

That stings. How many times do I have to explain to her that I don’t buy her things to take away her independence? “Arella, I have enough liquid cash to buy you private jets, superyachts, and a mansion the size of a castle. Buying you a car doesn’t make even the slightest dent in my bank account. Don’t you want to save your hard-earned money for more important things?” Like, you know... a baby?

“Well, I—” She stops because a vibration comes from my pocket.

I dig my phone out. It’s Victor. Shit. When I spoke to him three days ago, I promised I’d have more answers to explain Arella’s immunity within the week. I haven’t told him that she left me, because he’s not going to accept that as a valid excuse not to have answers. What the hell am I gonna do?

“Is that your uncle?”

I shove the device back into my jeans. “Yep.”

“You’re not going to answer it?”

“Nope.”

“Is it because he’s calling during regular-people time?”

That makes the corners of my lips tick up. I like how quippy she can be. I also like that even after we’ve been arguing, she can still make me smile. “Contrary to what you believe, my uncle and I can have conversations during regular-people hours.”

“News to me.”

Not long ago, Arella questioned me about my late-night phone calls with my uncle. That was also the night she asked me about my tinted windows, how I don’t sleep as often as she does, and how my body can heal so fast.

Many Zordi homes have tinted windows so we can use our powers freely without our neighbors spotting it. Zordis only need to sleep every other evening, and our bodies can heal wounds three times faster than the average Ordinary. Couple that with the healing products my parents invented, and we can fix broken limbs within hours.

Arella noticed all of these abnormal-to-Ordinaries things about me. I didn’t want to lie, so I never gave her an explanation. I can see why the Superiors forbid us from having close relationships with Ordinaries, because after a while, it gets hard to hide even the littlest things. Like our enhanced eyesight and our natural ability to regulate our body temperature.

The second Arella turns her car into my driveway, my heart races. Our time together is almost over. I don’t want it to end yet. “Do you wanna come in and grab your st?—”

“No.”

I didn’t get to finish my sentence, but okay. “Stay here then. I’ll get it all for you.”

She shakes her head and puts the car into park. “I don’t want it. Any of it.”

“What about your clothes? Your blanket? Your purple teddy bear?”

“You bought all those things for me.”

“Not all of it.” I unbuckle my seat belt. It makes a zip sound as it retracts upward.

“Maybe some clothes are mine, but you bought me that blanket and the bear.”

“I bought them for you , so they belong to you.”

“No,” she says sternly. “They belong to you.”

I don’t think this woman understands how gifts work. News flash: Once it’s been gifted, it no longer belongs to the gifter. “I want you to have them.”

“Fine, then I want you to have this.” She grabs her purse, drags her car key out, and tosses it onto my lap.

I scowl at it before chucking the damn thing behind me. It lands with a light thud against the backseat. “This car is yours, and that’s final.”

“Fine, then take this.” She reaches behind her neck, and before I can stop her, the angel wings are detached from her body. She holds the diamond out to me on a straight arm.

I glance at her, then at the necklace, then back at her. My words come out like a shattered reflection of my heart. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“Are you trying to hurt me ?”

“No. I just want you to have your things back.” That’s not true. Really, I’m looking for any reason to prolong our time together, and apparently, arguing with her is what I went with.

“I want you to have your things back too.” She shakes the jewelry. The tiny engraving on the back catches my eye. Paris? T.G. I envisioned the rest of my life with her in Paris. Right now, that life feels so far away.

I clench my jaw to keep from punching something, then I snatch the necklace from her. Without a word, I lean in to hook it back where it belongs.

She doesn’t move as my fingertips graze her soft skin. Being this close to her is dangerous. I’m about to put my lips all over her neck. Her sweet lavender scent is making me lose control over my thoughts and even my hands. The diamond slips from my grasp and lands on her lap. She remains still as my trembling fingers pluck it back up and I try again.

Not once does she fight me as I take my sweet time getting the clasp to work—surprising, considering she’s spent this entire morning doing the opposite of everything I want. Maybe she wants to keep the necklace as much as I want her to keep it. A man can hope.

Once the jewelry is back around her neck, I take her hands into mine and gaze deeply into her eyes as a silent plea for her not to rip it off.

When she doesn’t, I lower my voice to almost a whisper. “I’ll keep your stuff, Arella. Just please, keep the necklace.”