And I do feel betrayed. He tricked me. Confused me with a kiss and lied about who he really is. Maybe that’s unfair, considering I’ve lied too, but I can’t help feeling like he played me.
“You’re King Ravinger,” I breathe in hurt accusation, because it’s the only thought clanging through my bones and shrieking in my skull.
Rip’s mouth slowly pulls into a grin, and he speaks with the dark, sensual stroke of a villainous purr that matches the glint in his eye. “Yes, Goldfinch, I am. But you can call me Slade.”