Red Thorns (Thorns Duet #1) by Rina Kent

“Since a boy in elementary school was called a bully for giving me a bloody nose. When the fact was, I broke his toy. No one believed him after he beat me up because in the world’s eyes, he had a bad reputation and I was the victim.”

“You weren’t.”

He lifts a shoulder. “They believed it. That’s what matters.”

“Does that mean everything you do is make-believe?”

“To an extent.”

“So…your true self is the beast?”

He smiles, a predatory one. “Is that what you call me in your head?”

“Just answer the question,” I blurt, embarrassed to my bones.

“I wouldn’t say I’m him entirely. Just like not every part of you is the prey.”

“That’s what you call me?”

“That or toy.”

For some reason, that doesn’t feel odd or degrading. I get off on the name-calling during sex, but this feels different. Almost like our secret language.

I stare at Sebastian. Like really stare at him and his sculpted beauty that’s fit for models. Why would a person like him get off on that depravity? What turned the boy who was beaten up at school into the beast?

“Do you keep those two facets of you entirely separated?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“The answer depends on your answer.”

“My answer to what?”

“What happened to you?”

My fingers tremble and I jam the straw into the bottle of juice, then take a long swig. “I was born without a father and…it fucked me up. When I was younger, I looked at other kids and hated my mom for not letting me have a father. Then I thought maybe she had me from one of those fertilization clinics and I was supposed to be fatherless. You might say that’s not a big deal. I thought so as well until I realized I wouldn’t be the same if I’d had a father. Or maybe I’m just trying to make an excuse and be…normal. Because normal families don’t have bad shit happen to them.”

“They do.” His voice is quiet. “My parents were normal people without much ambition. They were so normal and righteous, they left my grandparents’ sides to live a bland life, but they died in an accident, anyway. Striving for normal didn’t save them. It may have made their deaths more imminent.”

“I’m…sorry.”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Isn’t that what people say in these circumstances?”

“I don’t get the sentiment behind it. They were my parents and I don’t even think of them anymore. Why would you be sorry for their deaths when you didn’t know them and didn’t have anything to do with it?”

Oh, God. I suspected it before, but I’m almost sure now. “Do you maybe…lack empathy?”

“The ability to understand and share the feelings of someone else.”

“I don’t want the definition. Do you feel it?”

“I suppose not.”

“That’s…a form of antisocial characteristics.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“By whom?”

“My gazillion therapists and my uncle. They don’t want me to be that way, so I managed to make them think I do feel empathy.”

“But you don’t.”

“Your point is? Do you want me to pretend in front of you as well?”

“No. Don’t do that.”

“Good. I wasn’t planning to, baby.” He smiles, but I don’t return it.

My mind is filled with a thousand theories about him. He’s completely different from the Sebastian Weaver I’d painted in my head, and for some reason, I prefer this version a lot more than the fantasy.

Even the imperfections add more to his alluring personality.

He’s different, but he’s unapologetic about it.

He’s different, but he’s not fake.

Not like me.





24





Sebastian





Since we ditched anyway, I take Naomi to my devil’s lair.

Kidding. Just my apartment.

While I love chasing the fuck out of her in the forest, I want to debauch her in all ways possible inside my home.

I watch her inquisitive gaze as she takes in the modern setting of my house. It’s all in gray, black and white. Though, I only saw the world in the two extremes of those colors before her.

Her eyes widen the slightest bit when she watches all her surroundings as if making sure there’s always an exit option. Her distrustful nature is cute, but she needs to get rid of it when around me.

I suppose that would happen with time.

I grab an apple bottle juice from the fridge and toss it to her. She catches it, then we sit together on the sofa across from the TV. I inhale her in, filling my lungs with lily and fucking peaches. It’s become a fix now, a drug I need constant doses of but could still never get enough

“Why did you bring me here?”

“What type of question is that? To fuck the shit out of you, of course.”

A delicate blush covers her cheeks. “Do you have to be crude?”

“Crude is what I do.”

She slurps from her juice and lifts her chin. “I want to watch the newest true crime show first.”