“I’m sure I’ll love the taste of them,” I retort.
“Children, please. She’s not lying, Frosty.” Kat appears beside Camilla, and my knees go weak with relief. She has returned, as promised. “I want Camilla at your side every minute of every day. Starting now.”
What the hell? “Is this a joke? A game of ‘would you rather’? Well, I’d rather play tonsil hockey with a zombie than spend another minute with your killer.”
Camilla flinches, but I refuse to feel bad for speaking the truth.
“Unfortunately for you,” Kat says, “this is a game of ‘what the dead girl wants, the dead girl gets.’” Her gaze pleads with me. “You’re doing it, and that’s final.”
Damn it. She’s serious about this. “Why? You know who Camilla is, right?”
“I do. Though you’re wrong about one thing. She’s not my killer. Not exactly.” The starch drains from her. “You just have to trust me. This arrangement is necessary.”
I shake my head, adamant. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Frosty.”
“Kitten.” How can I make her understand? “I’ll do anything for you. Cut out my own heart? Where’s a knife? Set myself on fire? Give me a match. But I won’t hang out with your murderer.”
“I didn’t set those bombs,” Camilla rasps. “I knew nothing about them. I’m also not the one who shot her.”
I spare her the briefest glance, and there’s nothing nice about it. “You destroyed the security system that allowed Anima to do those things. In my eyes, you carry the most guilt.”
The starch leaves her, too, and she withers. Good. Let her hurt for what she did. Let her stew in her shame. It’s what she deserves.
Kat steps toward me, claiming my attention. “I’m about to drop some knowledge, big boy, so listen up. I told you I would appear on the days you performed a good deed. Well, guess what? Those good deeds begin and end with Camilla Marks. From now on, you will have breakfast with her. You will fight zombies with her. You will...” Her teeth grind together. “Sleep in the same room with her.”
I give another violent shake my head. No way, no how.
“I’ve never asked you for anything,” Kat says, and I gape at her.
“You asked me for something every day since we met. Teddy bears. Roses. Apologies. My dessert. My lunch money. My car. Hell, even my soul. Nothing was off-limits.”
“I didn’t ask for anything important,” she amends, then clasps her hands together to form a steeple. “Do this for me. Please. It’s the only way we’ll get to see each other.”
The rules, I realize. Those stupid rules.
I have more questions for her, but I blink, and she’s gone. A roar of denial leaves me, echoing from the walls.
“I’ll do it,” I shout. I’ve been backed into a corner, and I know it. I feel like the mangy mutt the good people at animal control want to capture to test for rabies, but I’ll still do it. “I agree to your terms. You can come back now.”
But she doesn’t return, and desolation begins to weigh me down.
“Why would you agree to this?” I demand of the traitor.
Camilla strides to the wet bar to pour herself a shot of Grey Goose. “I owe her. I owe you.”
“Or you’re planning to spy on me.” Yeah. I bet that’s it.
“Your thought process needs retooling. Who, exactly, am I supposed to report to?” She drains the glass. “Anima is nothing but rubble.”
“Or so we think.” I run both hands through my hair, yank at the strands. What the hell am I going to do with this girl? I don’t want her in my apartment. I’ve had the place only a few months and it still doesn’t feel like home, but it’s mine and she’s not welcome to anything that belongs to me. But I don’t want her in Reeve’s new place, either. I don’t want her around my friends.
“Kat showed me where you live,” she says. “I’ve already dropped my backpack there.”
“The door was locked.”
“Yes, and I picked it.”
Rage sparks, and I punch the wall.
“Temper, temper.” She doesn’t look the least bit afraid of me as she strides to the exit. I’m a little surprised and a lot pissed when she plugs in the proper code and the door opens for her. “Let’s go home and talk logistics.”
“My home, not yours.” I race to her side to keep pace, barely stopping myself from grabbing and shaking her. “The code.”
She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand my meaning. “I memorized the numbers when you punched them in.”
“I had my back to you, blocking your view.”
“Was I not supposed to peek over your shoulder? Oops. My bad.”
I open my mouth to blast her.
“I didn’t know what you planned to do to me and devised an evil plan of escape,” she interjects. “I know, I know. How dare I take measures to protect myself. I should be ashamed.”
I’ll have to be more careful around her. Noted. She’s the enemy, and she’ll always be the enemy. Hostility and suspicion are all she’ll ever get from me.