“Once.”
“Dear fucking god, kid. How. Many. Times. Have—”
“Fine. Three.”
I motioned to the stairwell leading to the basement rental. “Get the phone.”
“What?”
“I want to see it.”
“No.”
I glared, and Darcy withered. “He’ll kill me.”
“Not if I kill you first. Get the fucking phone.”
“You’re a real asshole.”
“And you’re a petulant fucking child who is riding my last nerve. Do as you’re told for once.”
“Fuck you. You aren’t my father.”
But Darcy didn’t argue further and aimed for the stairs. “Stay out here,” he warned.
“No.”
“My roommates don’t like company.”
“Too fucking bad. I don’t trust you.”
Seeming reluctant, Darcy unlocked the door. I followed him inside and stopped dead at the sight of what lay beyond the threshold.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
16
Tallus
Traffic had died down, and I was able to watch Diem and Darcy as they exited Subway and aimed for the corner store. From there, after a short conversation on the sidewalk, they headed to Darcy’s apartment across the street.
Echo whimpered, seeing Diem out the window.
“You noticed it too?”
Echo chuffed.
“I know. Daddy’s being surprisingly… patient for someone who loathes teenagers with every fiber of his being.”
Darcy wasn’t technically a teenager anymore—nineteen made him a legal adult—but his attitude suggested otherwise. Yet, for whatever reason, Diem had mostly maintained control over the situation, refusing to defer to me, the calmer, more sociable of the two of us.
Something had to give. My boyfriend’s temper was like a volcano under pressure. Eventually, he would blow.
The eruption happened less than three minutes after they vanished down the stairwell. Diem reappeared, dragging Darcy by the scruff of his neck. The kid hugged a ragged backpack to his chest and stumbled after him, fear painted in sharp relief across his pale face.
Diem’s expression was set in stone. Murderous, if I’d ever seen it.
What the hell was going on? Diem wasn’t usually this handsy. He was overly cautious with physical contact. First the football tackle in the street, and now this.
