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“Twenty-four. But I don’t see how my age relates to what I was doing this evening.”
Down boy.
I regain my composure and act untouched by their line of questioning.
“We’re going to need to speak with your brothers.”
I push myself up from the table and nod. “Sure, I’ll go get them.”
Mom gives me a look that says,Make sure Ares looks decent. He wasn’t wearing a shirt the last time I saw him because he washed away Ophelia’s tears with it. And Ophelia didn’t look so hot, either. She looked like she hadn’t showered or eaten in days.
Seeing Ophelia in bad shape broke my heart. We did that to her, and I hate myself for it.
“Ares, stop it,” Ophelia says as I enter the sitting room, slapping his hand. “I’m mad at you.”
“Baby, I’m sorry.” He leans in for a kiss, but she pushes on his chest to keep him away. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
“Not now, lover boy.” I cross the room to stand in front of the coffee table. “Get upstairs, dress in a long-sleeve shirt, and hide your tattoos.” My gaze sweeps over to Atlas. He looks less like a thug than Ares, but cops take one look at all that ink and think they’re in a gang. “Maybe you should, too, Atlas. The police want to speak with both of you about us staying in with Mom and watching Gone with the Wind.”
“What the fuck?” Ares groans, tugging at the short ends of his black hair. “I hate that fucking movie.”
“Well, Mom loves it. I told the officers we watched it with her in the den at eight-thirty.”
Atlas gets up first. “Do they think we had something to do with the fire?”
I shrug. “Who knows? But they’re asking questions like they think we could be involved.”
“Those are just standard questions,” Ophelia says. “The cops come here all the time, grilling my dad about stuff that happened at his clubs. They need your alibis to rule you out as suspects.”
I clap my hands since Ares isn’t moving from the couch. “Chop, chop. Get upstairs and change into something decent. You can’t walk into the kitchen without a shirt and all that ink.”
Ares slips his arm behind Ophelia’s back and lifts her off the couch.
“Ares,” she whines. “You know I hate—“
“You’re fucking perfect, little dragon. There’s no part of you I will ever find disgusting.” He bends down and kisses her forehead, his hand dipping beneath the hem of her T-shirt. “This is mine.”
A soft moan slides past her lips as he caresses her beneath the shirt. “Ares, I’m not yours.”
“Mine,” he growls as his hand falls away from her body. “C’mon. We gotta talk to the cops.”
“She can’t come with us,” I interject. “I didn’t mention Ophelia being here tonight. They’re already suspicious. We don’t need to add fuel to the fire.”
“So,” Ares shoots back. “She lives here. Ophelia has every right to be in this house.”
“Technically, I don’t live here anymore,” she says in a clipped tone. “I live at Uncle Alexander’s house.”
“The police will ask why your dad kicked you out,” I tell her. “It’s best you stay here until they leave.”
She moves in front of my brothers and looks at me. “Which officers are here?”
“Matthews and Lawrence.”
A smile tips up the corners of her mouth. “I know Lawrence. He’s in my dad’s pocket. I’ll go with you.”
Ares curls his arm around her and smirks. “Come help me change, little dragon.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a desire in them. He attempts to kiss her again, and she turns her head.
