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“Oh? Then what’s it meant for if not to be seen?”
I shrug. “It was just school.”
“Didn’t you go to school to study art to become an artist? Or am I missing something?”
“Can I have that back?” I gesture to the notebook.
“You know which ones are my favorites? The ones of you flipping my brother off.” He holds out the notebook. I reach to take it, but he keeps hold of it, forcing me to look at him.
“Why do you like fucking with me?” I ask him outright because fuck him.
He grins, then lets go. “I like you. You’re fun. And believe it or not, I think you’re good for my brother.”
“I don’t think you do like me, Caius.”
“Then maybe you should take some time to get to know me, and you’ll realize your error.”
“How’s Ana?”
His eyebrows rise. “Ana?” He shrugs a shoulder. “Fine, I guess. Tell me something. You sent those sketches to him once a month. Why?”
Did Santos really tell him all of this? Did he show them all to him? What else has he told his brother?
“Well, he wanted letters,” I answer truthfully because it really doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure why he’s asking, but if I know Caius, he’s got an agenda. “I had little choice in the matter and controlled what I could. So, instead of letters, he got sketches.”
“See,” he says, pointing a finger with a smile like he and I are sharing some inside joke. He moves backward and sits on the edge of the bed. “This is why I like you. You don’t do as you’re told exactly. Not without a little sass.”
Caius’s gaze moves to that locked box and I see how his expression darkens, his bright eyes going a little darker, growing a little sadder.
“I’ll take that downstairs and get out of your hair.”
“What’s in it?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“He’s sentimental, my brother,” he says, fingering the box. “Likes his pen pals. You wouldn’t know it looking at him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing that’s any of my business. I’ll take it to his office.”
“But you made it your business, and you clearly brought it up to send some message so just go ahead and get it over with,” I say outright because Caius Augustine is a manipulative son of a bitch—and I do mean bitch. There’s no way that box just got up here by accident or coincidence. There’s no such thing where he’s concerned.
Caius’s expression shifts, then grows serious. He studies me for a long minute before a little gleam brightens his eyes. “Fair enough,” he says. “You want me to be direct? Okay, I’ll be direct. He cares about you, which means you can hurt him, and he has been hurt enough for a lifetime. Clear enough?”
“Is that some sort of threat?”
He sighs. “What would threatening you gain me?” He shakes his head, then walks around me to get to the box, knocking my shoulder on his way even though there’s plenty of room to get by. “You know we’re half-brothers right?” he asks. He picks up the box and heads to the door.
I follow him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Let’s just say I’m the unwanted half.”
The way he says it makes me stop. This isn’t what I’m expecting at all.
“All my life I’ve dealt with people not wanting me. Not trusting me. Not being good enough for anyone,” he starts with his back to me, then faces me when he reaches the door. “When people keep assuming the worst of you, you grow a thick skin. Problem is, that makes you a little less human. And I think that less human part is all you see when you look at me. It’s a shame.” He gestures for me to open the door and continues before I move, “I am the result of collective disappointment, Madelena. Can you relate?” Another pause. “But my brother has always been there for me. He’s never judged me, thought anything of me that he wouldn’t tell me to my face. That means a lot to me, and I am loyal to him and very protective of him.”
“I wouldn’t hurt him,” I say feeling defensive.
“You know about the Commander. But you don’t know what put Santos firmly under that bastard’s thumb.” I hold my breath and wait and a long enough moment passes that I’m not sure he’s going to continue so I’m surprised when he does. “He wasn’t even eighteen when he found the girl he loved murdered, the wordwhorewritten in her own blood across her stomach.”
