Page 84 of Wicked Little Darling

For all of this.

He had my darkest secret, and that meant he had some kind of hold over me now that he knew what I’d done to myself. How fucked up I really was.

“Dakota, please don’t…don’t tell anyone, okay? Please.”

He threw his leg over both of mine, trapping me, and studied me with an unreadable expression. Then he winked and said, “Who would I even tell? I’m a social pariah.”

“Just promise me.”

He dropped his head and rested his cheek on our joined hands and stared up at me. “I’ll keep your secret if you let me help you.”

I let my gaze drift over his face, taking in the freckles, the scar. Those long, thick lashes. His hair tickled my arm where it had fallen. Amusement tangled with exhaustion. “You’re blackmailing me now?”

He shrugged, looking nowhere close to sorry. “I’m not above it.”

There was something about the complete lack of judgment from him that coiled around my heart and squeezed. I had a feeling he’d keep my secret no matter what, that making it conditional was just to push me in the right direction.

“Fine.”

“You’re really hot when you pout like that.”

Shock parted my lips, and after staring at him in horror and confusion for a solid five seconds, he nuzzled his face into the back of my hand.

He seemed a little paler this morning, like maybe he hadn’t gotten much sleep. It made his scar more prominent, the freckles just a bit more pronounced.

That article about him that I’d read all those weeks ago popped into my head, and I just couldn’t believe it was true. Well, if it was, there was a reason. Dakota’s family was messed up and I wouldn’t put it past his dad to do something like that.

“What?” he asked. “You look like you wanna ask me something.”

I did.

“Is it true you went to a behavioral health facility when you were younger?”

As soon as the words were out, I regretted them immensely—that wasn’t my business and if he wanted to talk about it, he would bring it up himself.

“Did someone tell you that?” His voice was soft, but his eyes were hard as they bored into mine.

The shame I felt now was even worse, and I thought maybe it would actually kill me, that no one could survive feeling this horrible. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t?—”

He gave me a small smile. “You looked me up?”

I stared down at my hands, my face burning with embarrassment. “Yes.” He already knew I’d looked him up, but I could tell he liked hearing that for whatever reason.

His smile grew. “You wanted to know about me?”

I shrugged.

“You could’ve just asked. You can ask me anything.”

It was like hewantedme to ask him anything. Everything. Like he was as desperate for me to be as curious about him as he was for me to touch him.

Andfuck me, why did I like that so damn much?

Dakota sighed, then closed his eyes. “Yeah, I was sent to an upscale facility for people with behavioral issues. Mental illnesses and such. Aggressive or violent tendencies, suicidal ideation. I don’t have a mental illness—at least, I don’t think I do—but after…” He gestured at his face. “After this whole mess, Albert gladly believed Everett’s version of events and sent me off. I thought it was punishment for more than that. For stopping mid-performance and walking away. I made him look bad, hurt his image, and he was pissed at me. And he was probably sick of looking at me. Dealing with me. I was pretty difficult at that age.”

He opened his eyes. “So yeah, I spent a year there, picked up smoking because there was fuck-all to do, was forced to take anti-depressants when I wasn’t depressed, and those just…” He shook his head, as if trying to shake off a bad, bad memory that was clinging too hard. “They weren’t fun.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, then smiled at me. In spite of everything he’d just told me, he was smiling, and I wondered how he could ever smile again after such a horrific experience, after being treated like that byfamily.