Page 23 of Cinder (MC Fables #2)

E lla

I don’t see Lars for the rest of the day. Something is brewing following the incident with Stone. And by late afternoon, the clubhouse feels empty.

At four o’clock, Mrs. V. lets me finish up. But I don’t leave right away. I take advantage of the clubhouse being quiet and decide to sneak into the library.

Cracking the door open, I check to see if anyone is inside, but the vast room is empty.

Inside, I close the door behind me and pause to even my racing pulse. I draw in a deep breath, then slowly release it, telling myself it’s going to be okay.

Five minutes pass .

Then ten.

Then another fifteen.

My finger runs along the old spines. My lips whisper the name of each book as I pass over it. First edition books worth a fortune. My curiosity to know what hidden gems are in this library is getting the better of me.

When I come to a book about flowers, my heart kicks inside my chest.

Could it be?

Pulling it open, I check inside the cover.

And there it is. A handwritten note scribbled onto the old paper.

In Latin.

And scrawled in a flowing handwriting of decades past.

This has to be the recipe.

To be honest, when Viktor mentioned this to me, I thought it was an urban legend. Something made up. A really, really bad rumor.

But here it is.

Obviously, I can’t read what it all says.

But it’s written the same way someone would write out a recipe. With measurements and what looks like a list of ingredients.

I shake my head .

If Viktor is right, then this is the very first record of the Fantasia recipe.

Hidden in plain sight.

It’s so easy, it’s pure genius.

Most people would put something so valuable behind glass, or lock it in a safe, or do… something .

But not the Knights.

I laugh out loud, because I figure they did it because no one has the balls to walk into their clubhouse and steal it from under their noses.

And even though I’m here to do exactly that, I’m not stealing it.

I close the book and put it back on the shelf.

Because it’s not what I’m here to steal. Luca and Viktor can go to hell. If they want the recipe in this book, then they can come get it themselves.

Instead, I’m going to steal the first-edition Grimm’s Fairy Tales I saw on the shelf the first night I was here. It’s worth almost fifteen thousand dollars, if you know the right people.

And I know the right people, thanks to my mom.

Fifteen thousand dollars will be enough for me and Lucretia to get away from Luca.

We’ll get new identities and disappear into oblivion.

Somewhere warm, where they have three hundred days of sunshine, and sandy shores that dip into a crystal blue sea.

We’ll probably have to look over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.

But it will be a hell of a lot better than being married to the men Luca would force us to marry.

Lucretia would never survive it. Hell, I wouldn’t survive it.

In our new life, I’ll work in a shop or in a restaurant, or one of those cute cafés with tiny pastries in the front window, and when I have enough money, I will repay the Knights and tell them I’m sorry for stealing from them. That it was about survival.

And I mean it. I am sorry for what I am about to do. I hate that I have to steal from them just so my sister and I can outwit our evil half-brother.

A giant part of me wishes I could confide in Lars.

Tell him the truth.

But I can’t bring war to the clubhouse doorstep.

Or risk Lucretia’s life.

So I’m going to steal this book, sell it for the cash I need for me and my sister to start again, and once we’re safely disappeared, I will contact Lars and tell him everything.

“How come every time I look for you, I find you in the library?”

Lars’s voice makes me jump.

Startled, I look up to see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. His big arms are folded, and his legs are crossed at the ankles like he’s been standing there for some time watching me .

“Not true. Earlier today you found me in the fireplace,” I joke, quickly returning the rare book to its place on the dusty shelf.

I’ll have to come back for it tomorrow.

Lars steps into the room, and I force myself to relax so I don’t arouse any suspicion.

Breathe.

He doesn’t know why you’re really here.

“You really like it in here, don’t you?” he says.

“Are you kidding? This room is incredible. When I die, this is what heaven will look like.”

The smile he gives me is warm and delicious.

“How was your first day?” he asks. “Mrs. V. hasn’t scared you off, has she?”

“Not through lack of trying.” I hold up my hands. “Is it possible to get blisters from peeling potatoes?”

He takes one of my hands, and the fresh contact of his touch sends a flare of heat through me.

“You’ll survive,” he says, studying my hand. He brushes his thumb across my palm, and a small tremble rolls along my skin, through my pelvis and straight between my legs.

My lips part.

Lifting my gaze from my palm, I meet his gaze.

“I should go,” I say, aware he is still holding my hand .

I lick my lips and his eyes zero in on it. “You could stay.”

His eyes are magnetic.

His touch is warm and inviting.

As if it has a mind of its own, my body softens quite literally in his hands, and melts toward him.

I want to stay.

I don’t want to go back to that shitty motel.

I want to stay here with this man who looks like he could rain havoc and hell down on the world. But whose touch is comforting and kind.

I want to feel it all over my body.

On every surface of my skin.

Inside me.

Forcing myself to pull my hand away, I step back and clear my throat. “I really have to go.”

“Then let me give you a ride home.”

For a split second, I imagine what it would be like on the back of his bike. With the wind in my hair and my arms around his warm, muscular body.

But a ride back to the motel would ignite a lot of questions from him, and from the two thugs living either side of my motel room.

“I have some errands to run. Maybe another time. ”

One perfect eyebrow shoots up, and I get the feeling Lars isn’t used to women saying no to a ride on the back of his bike.

I start to walk away. Because if I don’t move now, I might do something stupid.

Like stay.

I give him a warm smile to show him I’m not blowing him off. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

But by the look on his face, he knows something is up. “I’m leaving early and will be out of town for a couple of days. But I’ll be back Friday.”

“Is this the retaliation you mentioned?”

“Something like that.”

I frown. “Will you be safe?”

“Retaliation rarely is, sweetheart.”

Unease churns in my stomach.

Because if there was an ambush today, could it happen again?

“Today really didn’t affect you, did it?” he asks, sounding surprised. But it also sounds like he’s been thinking about it.

“I’ve always been good in an emergency. I just focus and do what needs doing.”

He’s studying me.

Looking for clues in my expression.

Or listening for the lie in my words .

But then he smiles. “Sounds like you’re someone good to have around when the shit hits the fan.”

I return the smile. But I want to steer the conversation away from me. “Be careful, okay?”

He steps closer and I’m caught in his heat.

Stay.

I’ve never been so tempted by something in my life.

My gaze trails up his broad chest to his face.

In another world, I could love this man.

But in this one, he is not an option.

“I’d better go. I have things to do,” I say.

“You sure you don’t want that ride?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’ll see you Friday, okay?”

“You will.”

I feel his eyes on me as I leave the room.

Just like I can still feel the warmth of his touch on my hands long after I’ve left the clubhouse and ridden the bus back to the motel.

And when Luca calls, and I have to endure the ten-minute phone call with him, I close my eyes and imagine Lars breaking every single one of his bones.

Slowly.

Every snap painful .

Every stab of pain an excruciating payment for the hell he’s inflicted on me.

When I hang up from him, I take a long hot shower and stand under the steady stream of hot water as if it can wash away the stench of Luca’s influence over my life. I close my eyes, feel my muscles soften, and finally relax.

After my shower, I climb into bed and have to force myself not to think about Lars.

I can’t get distracted by a hot, inked biker.

Because he’s not for me.

But as I turn off the light and sink my head into my pillow, I can’t help but wish that he was.