Page 120 of Daggermouth

“We had an agreement.”

“We had a threat,” she corrected, stepping closer, her finger jabbing toward his chest. “Your father’s threat. Don’t confuse that with loyalty or choice.”

Greyson matched her step, closing the distance between them. “You were really going to fucking leave knowing what would happen? To the rings. To Lira. To Callum.”

“Don’t you dare.” Her voice dropped, dangerous now. “Don’t you dare try to make me responsible for your father’s actions.”

“But you are responsible for yours,” he snapped. “And if I hadn’t shown up, you would have chosen to leave us all here, knowing we would die because of your choice.”

“I want out!” The bottle in her hand swung wide with her gesture, liquid splashing onto the floor. “I want freedom from this fucking prison you call home. I want to stop playing house with the Heart’s Executioner.”

Greyson refused to flinch at her words. “Is that what we are doing? Playing house?”

“What else would you call it?” She laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “You can call me your fiancée all you want, but I am your prisoner. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

Greyson stepped closer still, his height forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Is that what he was to you too? Why you left him in the Boundary so easily? Just another jailer keeping the infamous Shade tied down? Or did you actually give a fuck about him when you betrayed him too.”

Something flickered across her face—surprise, perhaps, at the naked jealousy in his voice.

“I have never betrayed him,” Shadera hissed up at him. “You don’t know anything about him, about us.”

“I know enough.” His voice hardened. “I know he was ready to get you killed. To risk everything on a fucking suicide mission that would’ve ended with both of you dead.”

“At least he was willing to try.” Her voice rose, edged with something raw. “At least he was willing to fight for me.”

“And I wasn’t?” Greyson demanded. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing since you got here? Sitting back and enjoying the show? I’m fighting every day—against my father, against the Heart, against this whole fucking system—just to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe.”

Her lips curled. “While still doing his bidding. While still playing Executioner.” She took another drink, her eyes never leaving his. “And what about your little reunion with Maya? Don’t talk to me about Jameson when you were so quick to disappear upstairs with her.”

The accusation startled a harsh laugh from him. “Is that what you thought that was? You jealous, Daggermouth?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Shadera’s tone dripped venom. “I couldn’t care less who you fuck.”

“I wasn’t fucking her,” Greyson snapped. “I was getting information. About my father’s plans, about the military base, about the bombs he’s threatening to drop on your precious Boundary. She hears things in those clubs.”

“How convenient,” she mocked. “I’m sure her hands all over you was just part of the exchange.”

“Careful,Shade.” His voice lowered to a dangerous register. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”

They were close now, nearly touching. Greyson could smell the whiskey on her breath, could see the flush spreading across her cheeks, the rapid pulse at her throat. Her anger was a tangible thing between them, reflecting his own, beat for beat.

“I care about surviving,” she said, her voice dropping to match his. “I care about getting out of this alive.”

“Is that why you kept that tablet?” he asked. “The one tucked into your back pocket? Or is it merely for staying in touch with your lover?”

Her eyes widened fractionally, but she recovered quickly. “I’ll use whatever tools I can get.”

“And what about me?” Greyson’s hand came up, not quite touching her hair, but hovering in the charged space between them. “Am I just another tool for you to use?”

Her breath caught, her eyes dropping briefly to his lips before snapping back up. The moment stretched between them, taut and electric.

Then a red dot appeared on the wall beside them.

Greyson reacted on instinct, grabbing Shadera and pulling her to the floor just as the glass of the nearby window spiderwebbed with the impact.

“Stay down,” he hissed, his body covering hers as his hand reached for the gun holstered at his shoulder.

She stiffened beneath him, then went completely still as the sound of movement registered from within the apartment—soft footfalls, the rustle of fabric, the nearly imperceptible click of a safety being disengaged.