This Fearless Girl (St. Clary's University #2) - E. M. Moore Page 0,8
choke on it, shaking my head. “No...”
Cole tightens his grip on me, and I realize I’m holding him with everything I have. I loosen my fingers immediately and pull my hand free. He allows me, his hand dropping to the couch cushion between us. “It’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you. Dickie got what he deserved for selling your secrets to the Jacobses for years. He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t your father’s friend. As far as I’m concerned, there should have been one less person at his funeral. The Jacobs boy and his friends could stay. They owed him a lot.”
My stomach churns. Cole eyes me without a lick of deceit. He definitely believes what he’s saying. In fact, he looks almost uncomfortable. As if he hates that he had to tell me.
“I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“It’s impossible to take in.”
“You don’t want to believe it.”
“Why would I?” Tremors take over, and my heart trips over itself to pound out a rhythm of denial. “I’ve only really known two people in my entire life. One of them was my father and the other was Dickie.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. If Cole thrives on knowledge, he could be baiting me. I don’t know what kind of information he can glean from what I’ve told him, but I’m not a psychopath. My mind doesn’t work like that.
“I told you it would hurt you, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”
His words punch me in the gut again. I might prefer him on the verge of spilling blood instead of this concerned confidante he’s trying to play.
My brain is a jumbled mess. Despite not believing what he’s told me, I’m subconsciously trying to run away with it—looking at things analytically, attempting to find two ends of a rope that can tie together and make what Cole said true.
The biggest evidence of all is Cole’s eyes. There’s no fabrication there. Only concern.
“Now,” he says, dropping his hands to his thighs. “With the way I’ve noticed the Jacobs boys watching your place, I know they don’t want you here. And judging how easy it was for me to break in, I don’t want you here either.”
He’s so easily brushed off our last conversation, leaving me reeling as he moves on to the next. He gets to his feet in one swift movement. At his full height, he looks like a giant compared to my place on the couch.
I stare down at my hands. Dickie couldn’t have been selling secrets to the Jacobses, but I know how to find out if he was, don’t I?
The other part of me wonders if I really want to know. Cole thinks it’s better to know the truth—to have all the facts. But what if it isn’t? What if ignorance is bliss?
“I’d tell you to pack your shit, but I already know whatever you leave here Stone will just come back for like a pretty lapdog.” He looks me up and down. “Kind of like how you got that outfit today.”
“Wait, Stone brought me this outfit?” I assumed it was Lucas. Wyatt’s still hurt, and Lucas currently isn’t blaming me for shooting his father.
“I was confused, too.” A dark shadow shutters over his eyes. “It seems the Jacobs boy is obsessed with you.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. I shot his father, I’m pretty sure he hates me.
“Which reminds me, baby girl,” Cole coos, using his arms to barricade me as I sink back into the couch. His empty stare sends warnings through me, but there’s no way to escape. He kneels on the couch cushion, his hand moving to clamp around my throat. “I’m honest with you, and I expect honesty back. You told me you’d never shot a gun before.” His fingers tighten to stop me from talking. “Someone who hasn’t shot a gun wouldn’t know to take the safety off before pulling the trigger. And in the shoulder, no less, for minimal injury.”
He squeezes, and I push myself back, trying to escape Cole’s pressure.
“Don’t lie to me again. And next time I tell you to shoot someone, you damn well better kill them.” He lets up, bringing himself to his full height once more. “Now, I have to deal with Lance again, and I really fucking hate that guy.”
My throat burns, but I hold back the cough my body wants so badly to expel.
Cole turns his back and walks toward the door. “Come on,” he beckons.