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“Hm.” He narrows his eyes at me, but that smirk doesn’t entirely vanish. “It’s kept you alive so far.”
I know he’s returning my tease, but it still makes my mind go places. Reminding me of who—or really, ofwhat—he is. I shift onto my side to face him more, unintentionally tucking myself closer to him in the process. And I do my damned hardest to ignore the way his arm around me tightens a bit more, his fingers just barely stroking my skin.
“So, is that what you usually do when you make people disappear? Kill them and, I don’t know… bury them in your garden?”
“Cuts costs on fertilizer.” Demyen sets the bottle down on the ground next to him. “No, I usually don’t make it a habit to ‘disappear’ people. Brings too many detectives sniffing around and one dead man isn’t worth losing an entire empire. If I have to kill someone, I make sure it gets called in. Better they find the body and follow a vague trail somewhere else.”
“So that’s why you’re asking about my father.”
He cocks a brow but doesn’t look at me, his gaze returning to the stars. “No. I’m asking about your father because he’s your father. And a detective. And you’re not dead, just ‘disappeared.’ And hehasn’tcome sniffing around.”
“Martin did,” I point out.
“Martin.” Demyen scoffs. “I still can’t believe you and him were ever a thing.”
Why does that feel like a punch in the gut? He didn’t lob any accusations or insults at me and yet it feels like he might as well have just called me an idiot. I try not to curl up into myself, not to wallow in the sudden self-pity drowning my nerves.
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
He stills. Then nods. “Sure. So what was that ‘mistake’ like? Living with him.”
“Why? So you can take notes?”
Demyen turns to frown at me. “Easy there. It was just a question.”
Shit.I snapped at him without thinking—but at the same time, I can’t deny it feels good to stand my own ground. “Well, it sure wasn’t a life inside a desert villa with our own personal chef, I’ll tell you that much. Well, maybe for him it was. I was his personal chef, and maid, and accountant—except for when he didn’t want to hear the truth.”
At Demyen’s silent nod for me to continue, I sigh. “The truth was—and probably still is—that he spends outside his means. And never on anyone but himself. He was first in line at the Apple store for their newest laptop, but I was first in line at the food pantry just so Willow would have enough to eat for the week.”
Demyen’s expression darkens. “He’s a detective. That’s not a small income. The fuck kind of man doesn’t provide for his family?”
I know I’m probably digging my own hole in whatever ditch he’ll end up throwing me in, but oh well. I’ve come this far. What’s one more nail in the coffin? “The kind who makes sure to never marry his live-in girlfriend so she can’t hold any claims for his finances. It only worked for him during tax season, when he claimed Willow and me as dependents.”
“And yet you stayed with him.”
“Where else was I going to go?”
I’ve had this conversation before—with Roxy, who would make sure at least once a week for the past six years to beg me to leave Martin once and for all. Pretty sure she had it as a recurring calendar event.
I just… couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I wish I knew why.
Demyen lies there in silence for a while. I don’t feel like breaking it with my own questions. Not yet, anyway. I’m feeling too raw and too exposed under his scrutiny and judgment to launch my own interrogation.
Even though I have to admit, this feels less like an interrogation and more like… like he’s wanting toget to know me.
Which is ridiculous. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We never, ever will.
“At least you’re out of there now.” Demyen picks up the bottle and downs a hard swig before putting it back down on the tile.
“Yup,” I sigh. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
He stills.
Me and my big mouth…
But instead of chastising me or worse, Demyen simply slides his gaze to mine without turning his head. “If things were so bad with Martin, why not run to the police? To your father?”
