“He had you followed for weeks before you even knew his name.” Bastian’s grip tightens on my wrist where he has it cuffed against the wall. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s plenty to make a very effective point. “There is no ‘middle of nowhere’ when it comes to my brother. There is no ‘safe distance.’ There is only how long it takes him to find you.”
His forehead drops to mine. When he speaks again, his voice cracks.
“I can’t lose you again.”
Tears well up in my eyes, hot and stinging. I rip my wrist out of his grasp and turn my face away from him. “You can’t lose something you never had in the first place,” I whisper. It’s cold and cutting, and some might even say cruel and unusual.
But it gets the result I want: He lets go and steps back.
I wonder what kind of emotion is passing ov
