Page 9 of River of Deceit

I still should be.

“So?” Blaze asks, motioning to my arm. “Where’d you get the cut?”

I shouldn’t have been picking at the scab or flexing my arm, I guess, and I grab another napkin to cover it better in between bites of food. “Pandora,” I say reluctantly, not wanting to admit that she’d managed to swipe me with the knife.

All of my martial arts training should’ve prevented her from getting the drop on me, but I’d let my guard down around her.

It’s not a mistake I’ll make again.

I’d been embarrassed enough that I’d skipped the rest of the party, simply telling Blaze that I was tired.

“Right.” Blaze’s nose wrinkles. “Pandora. What a dumb name.”

“At least it’s more memorable than Laura,” I say, my appetite threatening to vanish. “I was helping her, then I got pissed because she was treating me like I’d done something wrong, and next thing I knew, she’d pulled a knife on me.”

I’m not helpless by any means, and the fact that she’d manage to get one up on me is hurting my pride — to put it lightly.

“Wait, what?” Blaze asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “She pulled a knife on you? How did she manage that?Why? You were being weirdly nice to her.”

“Guess she didn’t agree,” I say, setting the wrap down so I can dab at the wound and put pressure on it. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

I will, though.

I’m enough of a bleeding heart — as Blaze would put it — to help in the same sort of situation again, even if it did get me burned.

But I think Pandora might be an exception.

Blaze finishes his wrap and starts eating the tofu salad he got with it. His eyes meet mine, and I wonder what he sees that he suddenly says, “No, fuck that.Shewon’t make that mistake again. We have to teach her a lesson, Asch.”

His grin makes my heart hammer harder in my chest. It’s theexpression he gets whenever he’s decided to claim something. When Blaze sets his sights on something, he gets it.

No exceptions.

If he can’t charm it or buy it, he’ll take it by force — and he’s not afraid to do his own dirty work.

A high school classmate of ours had shown up with a vintage Mustang in near perfect condition one day. He’d refused to sell the car to Blaze.

So Blaze and I waited until after school, and I watched as Blaze beat our classmate bloody.

“Help me out,”Blaze had ordered, and I’d held the guy down so Blaze would have an easier time with the punches.

It went on and on, until the guy sobbed in my arms and begged to give his keys to Blaze.

“I’ll get you a check for three hundred thousand tomorrow,” Blaze had said, still smiling.

And not only had he paid, but a year later, after we’d taken that car on several road trips and used it to pick up countless dates, he’d returned the car.

“Bored of it now,” Blaze had declared.

Five years of friendship or not, I sometimes wonder if he’ll get bored ofme.

I manage to make the cut stop bleeding and ball up the napkins, starting to eat again. “Yeah?” I snort. “What kind of lesson would we even teach Pandora? Don’t be dumb, Blaze. Just ignore her.”

I don’t want to ignore her, though.

I want to makeherbleed.

That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.