Page 111 of Dirty Little Saint

Felix follows my gaze. “Welcome to Southern Melancholia…”

When we exit the SUV, I stagger back against the door, unprepared for the heady scent of bougainvillea and jasmine. It overpowers the oleander and nightshade. The wind is warm and humid. It sticks to my clothes, dampening my skin almost instantly.

The man who let us in stalks over, his gaze fixated on me. When we’re face-to-face, my pulse races. His eyes look just like mine. Like burnt honey. We stare at each other, dumbfounded. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Felix breaks the silence. “Draven,” he addresses the man. “Meet your cousin, Maureen Blackwell.”

His eyes are cold, expressionless. The muscle in his jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth. “Welcome.”

Am I though? He looks unimpressed.

I stick my hand out, anyway. “Nice to meet you, Draven. I’ve been wondering about you all for so long.”

He arches an eyebrow before conceding. I shiver when his ice-cold hand wraps around mine. “You might regret that by the end of the night.”

It sounds more like a warning than a threat. A nugget of wisdom from a man whose spirit has clearly been crushed by the weight of this family. From the hollow look in his eyes to his rigid posture, it doesn’t take me long to see he’s got some serious trust issues.

Riot, Atlas, and Val make their introductions as well before we follow him up the massive stone steps. Draven couldn’t look more disinterested if he tried.

When we approach the double doors, sounds of music underneath nervous chatter pour out, and my stomach knots. “How many people are in there?”

Draven clucks his tongue in annoyance. “Twenty or so. But the only one you should concern yourself with is Grandmother.”

Penny Blackwell.

Fuck. Now I get to finally meet psycho granny. The stories about her alone give me so much insight as to why my mother is such a bitch. I almost feel sorry for her. Until I remind myself of my affectionless childhood.

“Are Lib’s parents here?” Atlas asks before downing another vial of poison.

Draven nods. “Your Uncle Gemini and Aunt Rose are inside, along with your cousin, Aries. My parents are here as well.”

Felix snickers. “I’m guessing mine are not.”

Draven tilts his head and flashes him a murderous glare. “No. But Bones is here, of course.”

From what Felix has told me, Draven, Bones, and Aries are a tight group—best friends and heathens who enjoy terrorizing the town because they can. Our families are founders, powerful and rich. Untouchable.

The front doors open up to a lavish foyer. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, illuminating the marble floors and cherrywood staircase. The air is cool, a nice reprieve from the humidity outside.

All the fixtures on the doors and windows are made of pure gold and encrusted with diamonds. I look down at my black pants and black cashmere sweater and feel underdressed, cursing myself for not wearing something fancier.

“Fuck, I need a drink,” Felix mutters.

“We all do,” Draven drawls back.

“Well, lead the way then, sunshine,” Val mocks. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “He might be a robot.”

I stifle a laugh as we follow my new cousin down the hall and into the crowded sitting room. I don’t have to try hard because the second we enter, the chatter stops and all eyes are on me.

Fuck.

Looks of horror mixed with pity are hurled in my direction. What do these people know that I don’t?

A white-gloved server hands us each a cocktail—gin martinis. I take a sip and wince. It brings me back to the first party at Nocturnus House when Libra ordered me one. It was before she knew that I had never met any of my family. Before she reminded me that I’m one of the heirs to the Blackwell Gin Company.

Draven walks me around the room, my guys in tow, and proceeds to introduce us to everyone. They are polite but reserved, eager yet suspicious. But if there’s any doubt that I am who I claim to be, that is quelled the second I lay eyes on Penny Blackwell. With her dark hair, though streaked with gray, and her honey-colored eyes, she’s a much older version of me.

The crowd parts as she crosses the room to me. There is no longing in her gaze. No kindness or warmth or even any of the pity that the others expressed. She approaches cautiously as if any sudden moves on her part might spook me and make me attack.

---