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Chapter twenty-one
Remy
My sister has been everything to me at some point. She was the star that stole my mother’s attention when she was born, the soft spot that served as my father’s only weakness, the best friend I could imagine growing up, the bane of my existence when she was a pre-teen. She has been my constant responsibility—my parents told me that the day she was born, and while I don’t remember it, I’ve heard it hundreds of times since then.
Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That was one of the most basic things I learned from my childhood, and it turns out that my parents didn’t obey their own rules. My father and his business partners prey upon the innocent, happily plucking low-hanging fruit to satisfy their own need for blood, violence, money. Maybe because they knew they didn’t follow their own example, they instilled this need to protect my sister from the world around her. I’d have done it even if they hadn’t made me.
But now I can’t protect her from something, and the pain that it’s causing her is obvious. It hurts me too. It hurts me to see the only person in this world that has ever meant so much to me drowning in pain that I’m causing. It doesn’t hurt as much as the accusation in her eyes, though, when she turns them back to me. Her tears only serve to make me feel more helpless, more ruthless. “You said that weekend you went to see Davos, you were recruited?”
“Yes.”
“So…” Her voice shakes over a single syllable. “You take part in all of this?”
Not in the way they do.
That’s what I want to say, but I’m not going to sit here and try to convince my little sister that I know all of their dirty little secrets and I’m somehow better than them. There’s freedom in knowing that I’m not better than them—just different. I kill those who hurt others, I move their financial assets, I cover up the transactions that would raise red flags with the IRS, and I help whoever I can when I can, but I’m not better. I played their game. I caved under their threat of violence, choosing to protect the last tattered shred of my family, knowing I’m in too deep to ever create one of my own. “Yes.”
Rhea winces like I’ve reached out and slapped her. The tears start spilling down her cheeks unchecked, and I scrub a hand over my face. I’m fucking tired.
Rhea shrugs out from under Claire’s touch and faces her so that her back is to me when she speaks again. “And were you involved in this?”
They’re quiet for a minute, and then Claire says “what?”, like she’s been trying and failing to understand what Rhea meant by that question.
“I mean, are you really innocent in all of this or are you part of it too?”
I think I know what she’s asking. It’s the same thing I thought of when I first met Claire, the same suspicions I had when this random girl befriended my sister and somehow became more of a necessity in Rhea’s life than her own family. “No.” I answer for her. “Claire isn’t involved in any of this other than Jovich deciding to trade her life for yours.”
“I would trade myself for you, too.” Claire breathes. I don’t doubt the sincerity of her words, but they don’t sit well with me. I hate the thought of her doing something like that, and I hate that the thought has any kind of effect on me at all. “I didn’t orchestrate this friendship.” Her laugh is a defeated sound, like she can’t believe Rhea is really questioning her on this.
Rhea stands so fast she bumps the table. The liquid in Claire’s glass sloshes over the side as she pushes past her.
Claire lets her go, quickly wiping a tear from her cheek. “Rhea, wait…”
My sister is already vaulting over the side of the boat, desperate to get away from me. I stand up, prepared to chase her, but Claire reaches across the distance, her hand falling on my arm. “Don’t.”
“I need—”
“She needs time.” Claire sighs. “It’s been the longest day in the history of the world, but the funeral was just yesterday.”
I almost laugh.
The fucking funeral. I forgot it even happened. That means tomorrow is the wake—because Elaine enjoys torturing me these days, I think. She pushed it off a day for us because of Claire, but I wish she’d canceled it entirely.
As if sitting in that church praying it wouldn’t burn down around some of the most despicable people to ever walk the Earth hadn’t been bad enough. Now I have to sit in my house and listen to strangers, sociopaths, and criminals lament their grievances over my father’s death.
“Do you think I could cancel the wake? Just lock the doors and turn all the lights off?”
Claire shrugs. “I could make a poster saying the party’s canceled. You have glitter paint, right?”
“Obviously. It’s in my craft closet right next to the scrapbooking stuff.”
She graces me with a laugh and then pulls her lip between her teeth in an attempt to stop it. I don’t want to think about how much I like the sound, so I bring up the first thing that’s been on my mind. “Did you mean it?”
Confused, Claire looks up at me. Her bright eyes shine, and I can’t tell if it’s the reflection of the moon or the water we’re on or if there are tears trying to fall. “What?”
“When you told Rhea you’d trade your life for hers. Did you mean it?”
This time, Claire answers without hesitation. “Yes.”
