Page 12 of The Duplicity of Thieves

This is why I couldn’t be here while she packed. I’m overwhelmed by nostalgia, and I don’t want to cry. Outside I can hear the people of our community celebrating, something they find time to do every chance they get.

I spy my tattered chair with boxes piled on the threadbare seat cushion. I move them over and drag it to the window, collapsing into it. Exhaustion is suffocating me. The trip I just returned from was brutal and harsh. I’m not sure how many days have passed since I last slept, but it hardly seems relevant as long as they pass. I stamp out the butt of the cigarette on the windowsill and light another. Only three left in the pack. That certainly won’t be enough to last the night. The sound of boots stamping up the stairs echoes under the door. Irritability slithers through my veins.

There’s a swift knock on the worn wood.

“It’s open,” I call out.

“Ya shouldn’t be leavin’ the door open like this. Anyone could walk in, Jo,” a man’s smooth Gaelic accent interrupts my pity party. Stafford.

“How did you even know I was here?” I sigh, lighting another cigarette.

“Can’t sneak ‘round that easily in this place. Cam saw ya. You’re missin’ the party.”

Cam is my downstairs neighbor. An old man who makes it his business to know everyone else’s business. “There’s always a party to miss around here,” I grumble.

“Ya know Viv doesn’t like ya smokin’.”

“You gonna tell her?”

“Come on, ya know me better than that.” He shuts the door behind him. “Did ya get the job done?”

“Don’t I always?” I roll my eyes and produce the gaudy pearl encrusted necklace, hanging it in my hand for him to grab. It’s still dripping with blood.

“You couldn’t at least clean it?”

“I’m not a maid,” I shrug. “Do you want it or not?”

My body is splattered with dried blood. My hands are coated in it, staining my skin. I look like the undead.

The first man I put under my knife deserved it, and the rest after that did, too. Torture is insidious, but it’s a means to an end. It’s also a sort of therapy for me. It’s a place where I can release my anger and feed the darkness that has latched itself to me since that night.

I’ve always been a bit cruel, despite Killian’s attempts to believe otherwise. I can admit it now. It wasn’t until Vivian and I were upheaved from our lives that we were able to learn who we really are. I had realized that I’d only been a product of what Kate wanted me to be. She used Killian’s love for me against him, manipulating him to bend to her will.

She always wanted control, or a say in what I did. Being free from her was like eating sugar for the very first time. It was when my decisions became my own that I slowly grew to hate her. Vivan’s view is quite different from mine, and I don’t fault her for that. Kate didn’t use her. I’ve kept my mouth shut and used work as my outlet for my frustration. I am finally in control.

He stuffs the necklace into his pocket. “You and I are a lot alike.”

“Get to the point.”

“We both are better off alone.”

A tired grin pulls at the corners of my lips. “Is this your attempt at a pep talk?”

“It’s not goin’ well, is it?” he chuckles.

I sink further into my armchair, crossing my legs. “I’m going to miss her.”

“She’s happy,” he offers, leaning against the wall across from me.

“I’m happy for her. I really am. It’s just weird.”

“It’s been four years. It would help ya if ya moved on.” His tone is gentle and his emerald green eyes are full of sympathy.

“I have moved on,” I snap.

Stafford raises his arms defensively. “Whatever ya say, lass. Why don’t ya come down an’ join us? Show everyone how fine ya are.”

I know what he’s doing. He’s cornering me and it’s working. He’s appealing to the part of me that always has to prove something. I shoot him a nasty look and he grins, his gold canine teeth flashing in the moonlight.

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