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Silently, I take a seat across from them, leaning back in the rickety, wooden chair and snagging the glass of whiskey. I stare at them as I take a slow sip, watching Sawyer bend beneath the weight of my stare while Sylvester meets it head-on. The taste of spiced bourbon blooms across my tongue, scorching my throat on the way down.
Just the way I like it.
“Why don’t we get to know each other tonight, yeah? Instead of livin’ like strangers like we have been.”
Sawyer gulps down her bourbon in one swallow, hissing as it goes down while slamming the glass on the table.
“Let’s! How about we start with you, Sylvester? Tell me about yourself.” The enthusiasm injected into her voice is forced, and the control over her emotions is brittle as fuck. “How’d ya lose your leg?”
Noticing the tension still between us, Sylvester clears his throat. Her question was rude, but I’ve never been kind a day in my life, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Stonefish. Got stung after my second daughter, Kacey, was born. Nearly killed me. It was almost too late by the time help arrived. They life-flighted me to the nearest hospital and saved me, but my leg had necrosis, so it had to go.”
Sawyer frowns. “That sucks,” she says shortly. I shake my head. Her social skills are almost worse than mine sometimes.
Sylvester doesn’t say anything, and it grows awkward, so she pushes for another question.
“You said you had a family?” she asks. “Tell me about them.”
“Yep,” he says shortly. “Was married to Raven for about thirty years, but she didn’t like livin’ out here. Named the place after her and e'rything. And what does she do? Takes off without sayin’ goodbye. That was a couple o’months before the place shut down. Been alone ever since.”
She hums, not sounding all that interested in Sylvester's woes. “That’s not very nice.”
Then, she turns her gaze to me, little knives shooting from them. “What about you, oh perfect one? Tell me about your perfect life and how you’ve lived it just so. Fucking. Perfectly.”
I narrow my gaze, purposely taking another slow sip of my drink just to piss her off. She seethes but keeps quiet.
“What would you like to know, Sawyer? About my perfect childhood first? Let’s see, that’s probably where my hatred for liars began, funnily enough. My perfect mother was the one to teach me that lesson.” Her face smooths out, but I find no victory in my own tragedy. “My favorite place to getmaritozzowas atRegoliin Rome. We were extremely poor, and Ma had to do questionable things for the money we did have, so when we went, it was special. I didn’t think it was going to be any different on my ninth birthday. Instead, she dropped me off atBasilica di San Giovanniand swore she would be right back. You want to know how long I waited?”
She swallows and sits up, looking away instead of giving me an answer. One side of my lips tilts up the slightest bit, but there’s nothing funny about a mother abandoning her child.
“That’s the thing. I’mstill waiting,” I finish, never lifting my searing gaze from her.
If she thinks she’s the only one who’s suffered in life, then I’d love to introduce her to the little boy still sitting on those steps, convinced his mother is going to show up any minute.
Sylvester stares hard at me for a moment before turning his gaze to her. For a second, I had forgotten he was here.
“Well, young lady. What about you?”
She sniffs, leans forward, and grabs the bottle of bourbon, filling up her glass halfway before taking a large sip.
“Careful there. Your tiny body can’t handle all that at once.”
“My tiny body can handle a lot,” she retorts, and her words are like throwing lighter fluid on a fire, the flames bursting in my chest as she stares at me pointedly.
The air around us thickens, and a low vibration buzzes beneath my skin. The beginnings of an earthquake are forming, and if she’s not careful, I won’t stop myself from proving just how little she can take of me.
If she thinks she has no control over her life and the decisions she makes, I’ll show her what it looks like to be truly uncontrollable. And if she thinks she’s broken now, I’d like to see how well she can walk after I’m done.
I cock a brow and take another swallow, keeping my gaze locked on hers.
“I didn't have the worst parents,” she announces. “Mom and Dad loved Kev more, though.” She pauses and glances at Sylvester. “Kev is my twin brother. Betcha didn’t think there was double the trouble, huh?”
She doesn’t let him answer, though, and turns back to me with a vicious smile on her face. “Grew up with all the nice things. Full playground in our big backyard. Trampoline, too. Always had all the neighbor kids over to play. We were just living the fucking life, right?”
She quiets, the tension thickening while she waits for a response.
Sylvester grunts. “Right.”
