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“I am.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not.”
“You should have taken a swing at me by now.”
He’s right. Emotions are a bell curve. On the one end, they’re still lifes in black and white. Motionless. Bolted to the wall. No need to react to anything. On the other end, they’ve come to life. Full color. A riot inside my head. The most control is necessary at those times, to keep myself in check. To keep them hidden. It takes all my attention to make the world into art. To freeze it in place. To make it into a representation of itself. A harmless commodity.
But in the middle, there’s a space where I might let up on that iron grip. I might let myself fight with my brothers. Or punch Sin in his damn fool face.
“Get out.” Light tone. Light light light. The opposite of the rocks weighing down my gut. The opposite of crushing disappointment. I thought he was dead, goddamn it.
“I’m staying. A few days, maybe the week.”
“I have an event.”
“Go to the event, then. I’ll watch your house while you’re gone.”
“I’d like it better if you left. And if you never came back.”
Sin presses his lips together and blinks. It hurt him, what I said, but I can’t fathom why. I don’t know why he wants this from me—this thing I can’t give him. I’m never going to be able to give him the kind of brotherly bullshit he’s looking for. Sin’s wasting his time on me. He should concentrate on Will instead.
“Have you eaten lunch?” he asks.
“No.” I don’t tell him I wasn’t going to eat lunch. That right now, I don’t find food particularly interesting. The only thing I find interesting is Daphne. Her messages are infrequent. That makes me want them so much more.
Sin rubs his hands over his hair. “What’s your favorite place to order in?”
“Any of them.” I take my phone out of my pocket. I’m hungry for Daphne. Sin can’t order her for delivery. “I don’t care.”
Emerson: I want to know what you taste like, little painter.
“Could you fake it, then?”
I meet Sin’s eyes. I don’t like what I find there. Genuine concern. The last thing I need is for him to insist on staying past this week. The last thing I need is for him to interfere in my plans. And if he gets worried enough, he will.
My phone goes back into my pocket. “La Table. If Marie answers the phone, she prefers you order in French.”
Sin rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
“My apologies. Should I have pretended to care a little less?” I actually do like La Table. But now that I’ve sent that message to Daphne, all my nerves have kicked into overdrive. If she would tell me where she was…
I can’t leave.
I would take her. Spirit her away. Take her far from whatever nonsense is keeping her from me. I would spread her sweet thighs and find out how my little painter tastes.
My heart pounds. I’ll have to do something soon, because living like this—it’s not tenable for anyone, but least of all me. I can be very, very patient. I will be so fucking patient with her.
I won’t wait forever.
I can’t wait that long.
“The fuck are you thinking about?” Sin asks. He has his phone to his ear. “Are you imagining murder? That’s what it looks like.”
I need to send a message. One to my man in the city.
Emerson: Confirm her location by the end of the evening.
