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“You say that like he’s done that before.”
“Kieranhasn’t.”
My mouth drops open, a response poised on the tip of my tongue, but it dies when I realize I don’t actually want that statement clarified. Whatever apparitions keep her up at night are not my problem.
I’ve got more than my own fair share.
Sleep pulls at the corners of my eyes, making them droop as Fiona switches her phone off and gets up, coming to perch on the edge of the bed. “Kieran’s never brought anyone here before, you know.”
I stare up at the ceiling, unblinking. “I didn’t ask him to bring me here. I had no say in the matter.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that he did. Here, of all places, as if our father isn’t recovering from a bullet wound in his shoulder and our mom isn’t decaying in front of our very eyes.” She gasps softly, turning her head toward me so I can just barely make out the gentle curve of her pixie nose. “Sorry, too much information. I have a shit habit of over sharing with strangers. Point being, our hands are kinda full here, but that didn’t stop my asshole brother from assigning me to his flavor of the month.”
Peeling my tongue from where it’s wedged to the roof of my mouth, I force down a swallow, ignoring the burn in my chest at her words. I glare at her, wondering what the hell she’s doing here when she clearly doesn’t want to be.
“I can see you, you know. My eyes adjust really well to the dark.” The flashlight on the back of her phone shines in the next instant, illuminating the room.
“Sorry, I’m just...” I trail off, taking her in as she twirls a lock of hair around her finger. She lacks the exact gaunt, haunted look that plagues her brother, but there’s an air about her that makes me nervous. Maybe it’s the slight tap of her fingers against her thigh, methodical and practiced, in three-tap increments.Tap, tap, tap.
Honing in on the movements, I find myself unable to concentrate on anything else until her hand freezes and slips beneath her thigh. Her knee bounces slightly, jostling me on the bed, and I hear the distinct pop of bubblegum smacking against her lips.
“Are you still feeling nauseous? Do you need a cold compress or Zofran? My mom’s medicine cabinet is pretty well stocked, I could grab something from there.” She lifts a shoulder, her knee pausing for a beat and then starting back up. After a few minutes, her finger joins in, and annoyance courses through me, radiating outward in waves.
The perfect hostess.Generational wealth and high society wrapped in a neat, pretty package, plagued by a need to fill every pause and silence.
If I didn’t know better, I’d never be able to guess any relation to the cold, brazen man occupying most of my thoughts, and I can’t help wondering what the hell made him that way.
My mother used to say that people aren’t born into darkness; they’re thrustfromit, birthed into a stage of innocence. It’s our inability to resist our temptations, to curse the Devil instead of give in, that stains our souls with the weight of corruption.
Humans are weak,she’d say, raising a perfectly-arched brow in my direction, as if to emphasize my own vulnerabilities, the fact that she found me the weakest of all entirely apparent.They think they’re invincible, that nothing can touch them, and that’s how sin gets in. It slithers through the cracks in our superficial armor, seeks out souls to steal.
Don’t ever think you’re immune just because you think you can recognize evil before it hits. The Devil is a master of disguise.
Warned me against a life of deception, and yetshe left me.
The biggest liar of all.
A woman more concerned with status and money than the children she brought into this world. Her nose always turned up at us, her judgments reserved for Caroline and me alone, as if we were the worst things about this planet.
They shouldn’t, given I haven’t heard from her in nearly two years, but her words ring in my ears as I sit, the silk comforter soft beneath my palms, wondering which Kieran is the real one.
The abrasive bully holding my locket hostage, or the man whokilledfor me?
Clearing my throat, I shake my head at Fiona. “No, I’m fine.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her hands fold and settle in her lap, and we sit in a strained silence for several beats, listening to the muffled noises drifting in from the hall. If Elia ishere, that means Caroline probably is as well—and that she likely knows what happened last night.
Another addition to her long list of reasons to worry about me, one I don’t feel like dealing with right now. In fact, the thought of dealing with anyone at this point has me seeing red, shoving back the covers and pushing off the mattress.
“What’re you doing?” Fiona asks as I kneel and feel around on the floor for my belongings.
My fingers brush against one Louis Vuitton heel, haphazardly splayed by a bed post, and I grope along the slick hardwood flooring for the other. “I need to go.”
“But your sister—”
Pausing, I turn and point at her with the bottom of my shoe. “Look, as much as I’d love to get into it with a complete stranger about why I don’t really feel like dealing with my completely overbearing sister right now, the more pressing matter to me is getting the fuck out of here. So, either help me so I can get out of your hair, orstop talking. I have a body hangover from Hell, and you talk way too much.”
“Jesus, fine. Where’s your other shoe?”
