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I have never been so thankful to see Quinn dress. The thought of this little troublemaker looking at him with that look in her eyes has me itching to reach for the gun in the waistband of my jeans.
“It’s Pollyanna.” She scowls, standing. “Only my friends get to call me Polly,” she adds, waving at Quinn. “Hi, friend.”
I take a menacing step toward her, about ready to break her jaw, but Quinn wraps an arm around my waist, holding me back.
“Polly, is there a reason why you’re here?” he asks, and I suppress the urge to stomp on his foot.
Why is he being so nice to her?
Was he not present when she was a right royal asshole to me?
His kindness toward the Antichrist angers me, and I attempt to push away from him, but his arm sits securely around my waist, and I give up trying to break free.
“I’m only here because my mom is a mess,” she replies, her bracelets jingling when she brushes a stray piece of straightened hair off her brow.
My ears prick up, and I narrow my eyes to slits.
“Why is that our problem?” I snarl, finally escaping Quinn’s hold as I storm toward her.
“Because,” she spits, not retreating from my warpath but advancing. “You’rethe reason she’s a zombie! Since you left, she won’t eat or speak. She’s like the living dead!”
Being this close to her, there is no doubt she’s my sister, as the look of rage contorting her features is one I live with every day.
“Not my problem,” I say casually, shaking my head.
“Are you serious?” she wails. “You’re the one who just turned up on our doorstep as a fugitive, ruining our lives!”
“Excuse me?” I gasp, incredulous of her accusations. “You need to leave. Now.”
I take a step away from her before I smack her smug face.
Ruiningtheirlives? She has no idea what a ruined life feels like. She has no fucking idea.
“I will not leave until you explain to me how in God’s name you are my sister. Daddy is on some business trip in Europe, and I can’t reach him. Mom is a fucking nutcase, so I can’t get a straight answer from her. As you can see, you’re the only person who can explain what the hell is going on!” Polly screams, but I barely hear a word she says. The only word I can hear on repeat is…Daddy.
Who thefuckis her daddy? Because I know for a fact Thomas Lee is not traveling the streets of Europe on some business trip.
My brain can scarcely catch up, but when it does, I cover my mouth as nausea begins creeping up my throat.
“Polly, will you give us a minute?” Quinn asks, gently reaching for my arm.
I shrug out of his hold because as the events of the past few minutes become crystal clear, I know I’m going to be sick.
Running into the bathroom, I barely make it in time to lift the lid before I throw up the entire contents of my stomach. But it’s still not enough, and I force my body to expel anything that might be left.
“This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening,” I mumble, thumping my fist onto the tiled wall.
“Red,” Quinn whispers from the doorway. “Are you all right?”
I try not to scoff at his question because I doubt I’ll ever be all right ever again.
Slamming the lid shut as I flush the toilet, I stand and a surge of anger overwhelms me because Polly isn’t the only one needing answers. Shoving past Quinn, I storm over to Polly, who stands by the door, adjusting the brown strap of her leather handbag.
“Who is your father?”
“What?” she asks, and I don’t fail to notice her voice quivering when she can clearly see how pissed off I am.
But I don’t care, continuing with my rampage.
