in the hallway or secretive touches that left me wanting more. I craved blatant love. I wanted to feel treasured.
Patrick remained quiet but snaked his hand around my hips. His feather-light fingertips slipped under my cotton shirt so that his heated touch caressed my bare skin.
“I think we all gave up on viewing you as a sister a while ago," Patrick began. His leg surged forward and tangled between mine. "Does this feel wrong, Ashleigh?” His voice was a husky whisper.
I gulped.
“N—no,” I replied.
He then inched closer to me and forced our foreheads to touch. The ghost of his eyelashes danced across mine. “How about this?”
Yes, I thought. “No,” I whispered. My voice shook with tension. Patrick was so close yet so far. He then moved so that his lips lingered on mine. I could feel each breath he took.
“Does this feel wrong to you, Ashleigh?” he asked slowly, and I felt each word move against my lips in a seductive dance. I ached to lean closer, to close the last millimeter between us, to feel his lips on mine. I felt tension worming sharp little fingers under my skin and pooling in the bottom of my stomach.
“No,” I replied, my voice barely audible. Patrick pulled back in an achingly slow manner, as if each inch between us caused him pain. Despite the distance, he still kept his hand firmly on my hip.
“Don’t confuse wrong with unsure , Ash,” he said in a tense voice. “We’ve been fighting this since the moment you slammed open those train doors and turned our world upside down.” He placed his other hand against my collarbone, and his fingers gently curled around my shoulder. It was a slightly possessive gesture that made my heart increase in tempo.
“I’m going to fix this, I promise you. You should never feel guilty for what you want. We want you to have freedom in all things. This . . .," Patrick began while pointing his finger and gesturing between us, “changed when Josiah abducted you. I don’t think anyone is willing to give you up now, and I promise you that this isn't one-sided.”
A loud knock shocked the two of us out of our intimate embrace, and we frantically worked to detangle ourselves. But, we didn’t move fast enough to prevent our intruder from seeing our nearness and my flushed face.
Light flooded Patrick's room, and I glanced up to see a very distraught Maverick in the doorway. His dark eyes briefly grazed over my dazed appearance and ruffled clothes. I noted the hint of a wince on his face before he dropped into a stark mask of indifference. Shaking his head, he straightened and addressed us.
“The Galla Guards have escaped. It’s not safe for Ash to stay here alone,” he said in an urgent tone. I quickly shuffled out of bed and grabbed my boots. After slipping them on, I threw a grey knit sweater over my thin, white nightgown.
Patrick was much slower to get out of bed but still moved with equal shock. I averted my eyes from his half-dressed frame and flexed muscles. I felt too much shame to eye the proof of what we were doing just moments before. With Maverick’s wince still fresh in my mind, I couldn’t help but feel like Patrick was wrong; I couldn't have freedom in all things. My actions and impulses had consequences.
We loaded onto the community transport and rushed to the warehouse. Cyler ordered me to remain close to Jacob about ten times during the trip. His overprotectiveness was in overdrive, and his eyes swept out the window, as if prepared for a surprise attack at any moment.
As we pulled up, Huxley got out first and sprinted to the warehouse entrance where there was a slumped over figure on the dirt ground outside. Huxley halted and bent over to inspect it. Everyone except Jacob began slowly exiting the transport after him, each producing various sized knives. Maverick moved with speed and purpose towards whatever caused Huxley to pause .
“Stay in the transport, Ashleigh,” Cyler ordered while clicking the lock. His lips were fixed firmly in a bleak line as he slid the door shut and made his way towards the others. His tense movements and shifting eyes made the shadows seem threatening.
Jacob grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Don’t look, Ash,” he whispered, but my eyes remained against the glass pane of the window, with my nose stubbornly pushed against it.
Patrick illuminated the dark exterior of the warehouse with