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Chapter Final
Raven
“Are you okay?”
Rebel is standing in the doorway. He looks handsome in his black suit. Okay, that’s a lie. I was trying to be respectful but fuck that.
He looks utterly fuckable.
There’s something about guys in suits anyway, but Rebel...built for days, shirt looks like it’s about to shred, fucking Rebel…I’m done.
I lick my lips as I stare at him. Pretty sure I’m drooling. Fuck his pants are tight.
“My eyes are up here, little bird. I’m not just a piece of meat for you to salivate over.”
“Can I eat you then?” The words slip from my lips without thought.
Yeah. Fuck funerals. Where’s the fun in that? I’d much rather stay here with him.
“Baxter’s grandfather is here.”
I know those words should be a bucket of cold ice on my libido but they’re not. I couldn’t care less if the Queen were here. Right now, the only thing that would stop me jumping Rebel’s bones is if Cordelia’s corpse somehow reanimated itself and climbed out of the coffin in the next room. And even then, I’d only stop to put the bitch back in her box.
“Raven, don’t look at me like that. It’s a funeral—”
“Not yet it isn’t.”
“It’s the day of the funeral.”
“So let’s put the fun back in funeral.”
“Later, I promise. I’ll give you all the fun in the world. We can even invite the others to join us.”
My eyes sparkle at his suggestion.
“I like that.”
“But first, we have to hand Phoenix over to the childminder so that we can get this shit show on the road.”
I sigh. He’s right. It just sucks. A little funeral – sorry prefuneral – sex is just what I need right now. But apparently what a girl wants, what a girl needs, is not what a girl gets.
“Fine.” I huff and follow him out to the foyer to, as he said, get this shit show on the road.
It doesn't take too long for the limo to arrive at the graveyard and for the funeral to take place. I’m grateful once again for Baxter’s connections and the strings he’s pulled in getting the whole event to take place graveside. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting in a church for a traditional funeral. Ever since the fire in the chapel, I avoid those buildings – they’re too full of my demons.
Hundreds of people with limos, town cars and all sorts of vile status symbol vehicles line the entire drive along the graveside. All of them here today are no doubt showing up for each other more than because of Cordelia's passing. As if I care either way. Everyone who’s anyone in society is here today, reminding me how much I hate this life. I want nothing to do with it, even though my guys have gifted me enough of a fortune to be able to compete with the richest of them all.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve heard the empty platitude, how many limp hands I’ve shaken, how many socialites I’ve plastered a false sad grimace on my face for. Why do I have to greet everyone in a receiving line like I’m at a damn wedding reception. It’s messed up. I want to dance on this bitch’s grave, and I can’t because I’m stuck in a pantomime playing the role of grieving granddaughter when nothing could be further from the truth.
“I’m not.” The truth slips from my lips before I think. The old bat in front of me gives a scandalised gasp, clutching her pearls and leaning on her ancient husband for support.
“She’s grieving Genevieve, she doesn’t mean it,” he consoles her as he pulls her away while levelling a glare over her head at me. I bite my tongue to keep more verbal diarrhoea from flooding out of my mouth. I’m in danger of telling all these two-faced sycophants exactly what Cordelia was really like.
With Baxter’s hand in mine, I stand and ignore the plethora of false praise and platitudes that the priest spins off about Cordelia. I thought I could be numb today, but I’m raging. The largest bouquets of white lilies and white roses I’ve ever seen adorn the pure white casket that is currently being lowered into the ground. Everything should have been black like her soul. The charade of purity is an absolute joke.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything more and cradle my secret to my chest instead to give me joy: I know how she really died, and she deserved every last second of it. My only regret is being unable to bring her back and to kill her all over again in payment for the atrocities she’s caused.
