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“Ugh!” Her fingers fly over the screen, and Stella and I both share a look.
“Trouble?” Stella asks with a perched brow.
River doesn’t answer, continuing to text whoever it is. She hands me her glass without looking up, and I pour more tequila.
“Why is it that the person you want to text, doesn’t? And then the one who you don’t want to, does.”
My fingers flex around the glass. “Do we have to have that little intervention again about how you should not be fucking Katsia because she’s a piece of shit?”
River’s fingers pause, sheepishly lifting her eyes to mine. “No. I got it the first six times.”
I glare at her.
“It’s not my fault! She’s crazy! Crazy makes for good sex. And anyway.” She goes back to texting. “She was leaving War alone when she was with me.”
“I don’t think that girl has ever left War alone…” Stella muses. “Honestly, Hales, I would have slit her throat on sight.”
I ignore my unhinged witch.
Four rounds later, River’s lying back on my bed, her hands sprawled over her belly as she stares up at the ceiling. “Do you think Vaden is okay?”
Stella has her phone out, snapping selfies.
I lean into one just in time. “What do you mean?”
Stella flicks through the retro filter app and opens Instagram. “She’s right. Something is going on with him.”
The photos pinned on my wall display a story of family, trust, love. I couldn’t imagine a life without everyone in it. I never want a life without them all in it. War included. Could we be jeopardizing that by being too involved?
I doubt it. God himself couldn’t rip this family apart.
“I think it’s just because we hold him to such a high standard, so if he does something considered remotely normal for us, we’re all going to question him. It’s no secret he has blood on his hands. Maybe he’s just—” I don’t even believe my own words. “Yeah, maybe you’re both right.”
Our phones light up at the same time.
Dinner party postponed to tomorrow.
I read over the words again. “What? That’s never happened…”
“Everything is suspicious.” Stella’s staring down at her phone, the two lines between her brows deep.
The bedroom door swings open as I’m sliding off my desk.
Priest fills the space, holding the door open as if waiting for someone.
“Dashing, darling…” Stella eats up what he’s wearing. Denim jeans, a black-and-gray Hermes shirt, and the latest Jordans. Stella and Priest should never be allowed together unattended.
Ever.
His head jerks out the door. “You all need to go downstairs.”
“Why?” I leave out the fact that I don’t want to and that every second Katsia is in my house the more I crave murder.
Ignoring my question, he crosses the room and shifts the curtains out of the way.
“Because you need to go downstairs and stop making it fucking obvious that you’ve gone soft for War.” He releases the curtains, turning back to me. “And what happened with you on Perdita? Where’d you go?”
The urge to snap at him for his comment has me glaring. There’s no point arguing with Priest. You could sit there and insult him all day, and all it’d do is make you exhausted and him bored.
