Page 20 of The Duplicity of Thieves

“Another dead end,” I sigh, flipping onto my stomach.

“Don’t worry, lass. Someone out there knows somethin’.” He reaches over and pats my head. In a matter of moments, he’s snoring.

Sometimes I wish I could be inherently happy. That I could have accepted love and devotion when it was given and cherished it. I wish that I had been able to let shit go instead of obsessing over things that didn’t matter. Easy to say now that no one is watching out for me. The night of Killian’s death was when I realized that there has always been something dark inside of me. It was dormant, deep down, quiet and stifled. Kate must have known, all that time, that I was capable of such destruction. That’s why she was always so fucking preachy.

Or maybe I imagined it. It’s a constant argument that I have with myself. Vivian never said a word when I came to. Maybe it was a dream and it never happened at all. It’s a lie I’m willing to perpetuate when I’m in a decent headspace.

The darkness hasn’t lashed out since that night, but I know it’s there, and I’m determined to figure out the things Kate and Killian so desperately kept from me. Even if I pretend I don’t care.

I’m still living in their shadow, and I’m fucking tired of it.

Chapter four

Josephine

After the engagement party, Vivian still didn’t come get her stuff from the apartment. I think she could feel the finality that came with moving it all. It’s a big adjustment, and Bella doesn’t seem to press the issue. I kind of wish she would. Having Vivian’s things piled around me is a strange type of torture.

The first few nights alone would have been difficult if Stafford hadn’t sent me out of town on some errands. They were mercy jobs, but I took them gladly; work always helps to silence my thoughts. I was only supposed to be collecting a payment. I know I took it too far. I usually do. It was unnecessary to be as brutal as I was, but some things just can’t be helped, especially when I ask a question, and they refuse to give me a direct answer.

When I return, the air is stale as always and the people strike me as bland. Once upon a time, I would have thought the colors and the lights were beautiful, that the laughter echoing through the streets could inspire my own, or that the night is young and the possibilities are endless. Each person that passes by reminds me of everything I’ve lost. Their joy makes me sick to my stomach with jealousy, masked as abhorrent hatred.

I try to take a deep breath to calm myself, but I’m suffocating with panic. With so many changes, I’m having a hard time accepting it all. It’s unearthing feelings that I had thought were buried. The past keeps itching in the back of my mind. The scars sear with phantom pain. It’s all so loud when there’s nothing to distract you.

Standing in front of the pub, I watch the black house down the street. A cute couple lives there. It’s cozy and out of place for the area. The noise and crowds from Ody’s would drive me crazy, but it doesn’t seem to bother them. I catch myself watching the place when depression settles in my bones.

Sometimes I imagine that Viv and I escaped with Killian and started over in that house. That Killian is always waiting, filled to the brim with the joy I crave so dearly, and that he can figure out how to make it all better. The door opens and the couple comes out onto the open porch. I toss the cigarette to the ground, stamping on it. Some stupid ember of Hope fosters itself in my heart that one day I’ll go home and Killian will be leaning in the doorway of the apartment, arms crossed, with that crooked shit eating grin.

I turn to head inside and catch my reflection in a dirty window in the alley. My ice blonde hair is tied back into a low ponytail. Under my eyes are dark circles, and there are a few specks of blood still on my face. Two hoop piercings on one side of my nose are black shadows in the moonlight. My freshly torn black jeans are a casualty of this latest job. The black shirt and leather jacket I usually wear cover my ugly identifiable scars.

I’ve never regretted the things that I’ve done. They were all out of necessity. Pleasure has been rare in my life. I’m pretty good at feeling sorry for myself when it suits me. The duffel bag in the back of my closet that still stores Killian’s things weighs heavy on me. What would Killian think of me now? Would I be the same? Would he still love me?

In a flurry of rage I punch the window, cutting my hand. Rivulets of blood trickle down into my palm. I wipe it on my pants and head inside. As I enter the back hallway, Caleb grabs me and drags me into the bathroom, locking the door behind us.

“You’ve never struck me as someone who likes rendezvous,” I tease.

“I’m sorry, Josie, but yer to wait here,” he commands.

“In the men’s bathroom?” I lift my eyebrows in response. “You tryna get me alone? I don’t think Fiona will like that much.”

“Shut up. Stafford’s orders.”

Someone starts banging on the door. “Piss off!” we yell in unison.

The person yells some slurs then stumbles away. I lift myself onto the sink with instant regret. My ass is soaking wet because people don’t know how to dry their hands.

“So why are we holding up in here? We might die from the fumes,” I gripe.

“Dunno,” Caleb sighs. “Some people are here to see ‘em.”

I bite my lip in thought. Staff likes to conduct business with as few people around as possible, but I’m usually included. He doesn’t really have friends, only acquaintances. The fact he wouldn’t want me to see them, or them me, is irritating and suspicious. Both things that I hate.

“This is really doing loads for my mental health.” I lean my head back on the rusty mirror. “You’ll be paying for therapy later.”

“I know what kinda therapy yer into. Take my ears so I don’t have to listen to the ole lady complain anymore,” Caleb snorts.

“Genius,” I laugh. “Does anyone clean this fucking bathroom?”

“Thought that was yer job. Not afraid of blood, but yer afraid of a little piss on the wall.”

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