Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Lock your door tonight if it will help, but Grayson will never bother you again.”
There were too many thoughts rattling around Jean’s exhausted brain for that to make sense at first, and then the memory of Neil’s “Do you have anyone who can take on local work?” rang out crystal clear. That he’d boldly taken a hit out on Grayson with Jean sitting right next to him was impossible; that Jean had been too shaken by the impending destruction of his family to realize it was happening was unforgivable.
The only valid response was to refuse. Grayson was due to leave the city this weekend. Whether he would stay gone was a different question, though, and Jean felt his skin crawl as he thought about it. With the Nest closed and Edgar Allan under investigation, the Ravens would surely be sent home for school breaks going forward. Grayson would be in and out of California all year. Was this really the only solution left for Jean, and could he survive if he didn’t take it?
“A Wesninski in truth, if not in name,” Jean said. “Eager to ingratiate yourself with your new master by protecting his assets?”
“Fuck Ichirou,” Neil said, and Jean was not going to sit here and listen to anything that followed that bold remark. He shoved the door open, but Neil grabbed his injured wrist before Jean could get out of the car. Jean gritted his teeth against the pain and glowered at him.
Neil was unmoved by his anger. “Grayson should have just walked away from Riko’s tainted legacy and started over. He strung the noose himself when he came all the way here to put his hands on you, and I am not afraid to kick the stool out from under him.”
Jean tried to tug free, but Neil’s grip was bruising. “Do not pretend this is about me, you miserable wretch.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Neil asked.
“I am just a Moreau,” Jean said, flat and fierce. “I am not—”
“So was Elodie,” Neil reminded him, and Jean stopped breathing. “Remember that the next time you think you aren’t worth saving.”
Neil let go, and Jean threw himself out of the car. He slammed the door behind him and flew up the steps. Jeremy had the front door open for him, but Jean got him out of the way with a quick hand on his shoulder. Cat and Laila were further down the hall, but they flattened themselves against the wall when they saw his face. Jean wasn’t sure where he was going, but he wasn’t surprised to find himself standing at his desk a few seconds later. He spread his notebooks out on the desk in front of him but didn’t bother to open them.
He thought of France: of blackberries and little ducks and the salty breeze off the Mediterranean, of gun oil and the sting of a wide belt and an eager, immediate yes. He thought of an endless plane ride to hell, a pair of numbered faces, and a monstrous boy saying Too pretentious a name for a dirty beast like you.
He thought of Evermore: heavy canes and sharp knives, broken fingers and drowning and fire. He thought of Josiah’s steady hands stitching him up just for Riko to kick him down the stairs again, and the sour smell of blood and sweat that couldn’t dry in his thick padding. Five volunteers to break him in, Zane’s betrayal to destroy him, and a single promise that kept him alive despite it all.
The cracking heat in his chest could have been his ribs snapping or his heart breaking. Jean held onto his control with everything he had left after such a nightmarish day, but he could feel his grip slipping. Endure, he warned himself, and on its tail-end came a desperate How much must I?
It wasn’t his place to ask; it wasn’t his place to assume there should be a limit. Whatever they demanded of him, he would give without hesitation or complaint. It was all he was; it was all he ever would be. He wanted to scream until his lungs tore.
“Jean.” Jeremy touched the back of his hand gently, like he thought Jean would crumple if he applied any pressure. “Tell us what you need from us.”
My name is Jean Moreau. I belong to the Moriyamas.
I will always have a master.
In one breath he was wracked with a hatred so fierce he could barely see straight; in the next he was horrified by his own ingratitude. What he had now was better than anything he’d ever been given, and it was certainly more than someone like him deserved. The master and Riko were gone, and Jean was free of the Nest. He had a new team, a new home, and a city he was starting to get familiar with. His hateful parents were a small price to pay to keep what he had, weren’t they?