Page 121 of Pretty Lies

“Matter of curiosity.”

Catholics.

Cory never understood the appeal, but his parents had him in the church before he could even remember, and he’d never known anything different. It was why he kept a string of rosary on his rearview mirror and on his bedpost.

Let God see all his sins, then.

Might as well.

He didn’t have to think about his answer. His favorite saint had found him early in life and never left.

“Saint Anthony,” Cory eventually said.

Tommas chuckled as though that didn’t surprise him a bit and riffled through the drawer more. “The saint you pray to when things, or you, are lost. You’re a walking cliché, Cory.”

“Not even close.”

The man nodded once. “And we all appreciate it, trust me.”

Tommas finally found what he wanted. He laid all the items out on the table for Cory to see and all at once, he understood what the boss wanted to do.

A picture, the size of a playing card, of Saint Anthony faced upward with his name in gold script at the bottom. The blade closest to the edge of the coffee table glinted when it caught the light. All things one needed to make a man.

To give him his in to the family.

Properly.

Except …

“I’m just missing a lighter,” Tommas noted.

Cory didn’t think about it before pulling his favorite Zippo from the back pocket of his jeans. He handed the item over.

“I like making my men privately,” Tommas said. “You could say it’s become a tradition for me. I like being the only person who can say whether another man is worthy to sit beside one of mine. You understand?”

“I do.”

“But you should also know, many men have stood and vouched for you recently.” Tommas picked up the knife and pointed the very sharp tip in the direction of Cory’s hands. “Is this what you want?”

Was that a real question?

“It is.”

“Palm up, Cory.”

•••

Cory’s favorite time of the day had changed. It used to be when the sun went down—darkness made everything look a little better. A lot of things could hide in the shadows. It was also where he found most of his fun. Even in his dreams, he was restless.

Lately, though, the time of day he liked the most was first thing in the morning when the sun was still brand new, and the rest of the world wasn’t waiting for him to do something. Usually, Mace would still be sleeping on his big pillow on the floor at the foot of the bed, the house was silent, and his blankets were always warmed with Della wrapped up in them.

At dawn, he learned to appreciate the stillness that came with it and what it meant for him to be able to have it at all. It just so happened to be his luck that he shared those early morning moments with Della because she hadn’t lied.

Chick was clingy.

She wanted his attention.

Always.