Page 58 of Wicked Brutal

Mom: She also asked me not to mention it to Roman.

Well. That’s fucking interesting.

Mom: “Roman doesn’t need to know. It’s only an hour.”

I sit back in my chair. Across the room, Iz catches the movement, and his eyebrows lift. I shake my head once. Later. My phone buzzes again.

Mom: Before you spiral, Tobias is completely fine. He’s currently explaining to your father why the leprechaun trap Walter suggested is apparently “scientifically ridiculous.”

I bite back a laugh.

dad suggested a leprechaun trap?

Mom: Your father has become deeply invested.

what the fuck is happening in my house

Mom: I genuinely don’t know.

I look across the classroom toward Ally. She’s taking notes. She hasn’t checked her phone, which means Jane probably hasn’t told her yet. For half a second, I consider texting her. Then I don’t. She’s going home with Becca after school because Becca needs to give her something from Cat — at least that’s the story anyone watching will see. She can come get Tobias afterward.

And maybe Jane calling my mother means absolutely nothing. A mother needed someone to watch her kid. That’s normal.

Except Jane doesn’t do normal. Not without Roman’s permission. Not without worrying what he’ll think. And she specifically told my mother not to tell him.

I look back at my phone.

One crack. Tiny. But there.

By the time Ally gets to my house, Tobias has turned the formal dining room into a fucking crime scene. Green construction paper covers half the table. There’s string tied between two chairs. A cereal box has been cut open and covered in aluminum foil. Three gold coins sit beneath what appears to be a laundry basket held up by a wooden spoon.

My father is crouched beside it. My father. Walter Harrington. Communications director for a United States senator. A man who owns cuff links worth more than my car. Crouched on the floor beside a six-year-old, arguing about leprechaun trap mechanics.

“I’m telling you,” Dad says, pointing at the string, “the trigger is too sensitive. The second he touches the gold, this comes down.”

Tobias looks personally offended. “No, because you’re thinking like a person.”

Dad pauses. “Okay.”

“Leprechauns are smaller.”

“That’s a fair criticism.”

“And faster.”

“Also fair.”

“And tricky.”

“I’ve heard,” Dad says.

Tobias crawls around the chair and points at the spoon. “So you can’t make the trap easy to see, because he’ll know it’s a trap.”

Dad studies the laundry basket. “What if we disguise it?”

Tobias’s entire face lights up. “Like a rainbow.”

“Exactly.”