Page 93 of Gilded Fake

“I know you don’t earn someone’s forgiveness by getting wasted or fucking their brother,” I say. “If you really want her, then stop being a coward and looking for pieces of her in the closest person you can find. If you want her to forgive you, you have to be willing to make yourself vulnerable and ask. And you have to be willing to accept that she might not.”

“What if I can’t accept that?” he asks quietly.

“That’s why you never went to find her, even though you know where she is, isn’t it?” I ask. “That’s why you’re here drinking yourself stupid with me instead. Because you know what you did is unforgiveable, and that no matter what you do now, you can’t undo what’s already been done. And you don’t want to face that.”

“I face it every fucking day,” he snarls, swiping the flask from the ground. “I face it until I hate myself so much I want to throw myself over this edge just like you, and the only thing stopping me is this bottle, because if I didn’t have that, I couldn’t stand to look at my own family, let alone my reflection in the mirror. You think I don’t know what we did was twisted and evil? You think I don’t regret it? That I’m not sorry? That I don’t spend every goddamn minute of every goddamn day wishing I could go back and undo it? And knowing I fucking can’t is the worst part of it all. Do you have any fucking idea what that’s like, Colt?”

“I know what it’s like to fuck up,” I say. “I don’t know what it’s like to be a monster.”

He finishes the whiskey and then lifts the flask, his shoulder muscles bunching and flexing as he draws back before pitching it far out over the pit. “Then why don’t you go beg forgiveness?” he snaps. “Until then, don’t talk to me about shit you don’t know.”

“You’re right,” I say, pushing myself up to standing. “I do owe Dixie an apology. I fucked up too. It wasn’t just her.”

“You’re just going to go ask her to forgive you, just like that?”

I shrug. “Yeah. Because I can live with myself if she doesn’t forgive me. That’s the difference between us. I hurt someone, but it wasn’t someone I can’t live without.”

“You never hurt Lo?” he challenges.

“I have,” I admit. “But I’ve never done something unforgiveable to her. I’d never risk that because I know I couldn’t survive losing her.”

“Because you’re fucking weak.”

“She’s my weakness,” I agree. “I’m damn proud of it too.”

“You’re so fucking whipped.”

“Better than living in denial. How can you live with yourself, knowing you’re doomed because you’ve already lost the person you can’t live without? That she’s gone, and she’s not coming back, and it’s your fault?”

“Fuck you, Colt,” he snarls, scrambling up from the edge, his eyes dark and desperate and miserable as he sways there in the silvery moonlight. “I’m not in denial. I know exactly what I’ve lost. I know what I’ve done. I know who I am.”

I slam the tailgate of my truck and turn back. “The demon king is self-aware. Who would have guessed?”

He glares at me, but his eyes are hollow. “You laugh, but I am a fucking demon, Colt. It takes me over, and I don’t know how to get rid of it. It’s inside me, and every time I let it out, it hurts someone. So tell me, if you’re so fucking smart, how am I supposed to get it out without it ruining more lives?”

“You’re a smart boy,” I say. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“I can’t,” he yells, throwing up his hands. “Why can’t you understand that? I don’t want to live with this fucking demon another moment, but I don’t get a choice, because unlike you, my family actually gives a shit about me, fucked up as they are, and there’s no way to kill it without killing the body we both live in. Is that what you want me to do? Jump off the bridge like your sister? Maybe tie a rope around my neck first?”

“I want you to admit the truth,” I say.

“What truth?” he yells, sounding so defeated and frustrated I almost take pity on him.

Almost.

“There is no demon, Duke,” I say. “There’s only you. And you have to live with that.”

twenty

1.5 Years Ago

Gloria Walton

“Well, this has been fun,” Cotton Montgomery drawled, stepping into the room with us. “You put on quite a show for me.”

“What do you want?” Colt asked, pulling my skirt down over my ass. He was still inside me, and there was no way for him to pull out without Cotton seeing everything. I hugged the tangle of blankets to my chest, trying to hide the top half of me.

“You offering me a turn?” Cotton asked, quirking a brow. He wasn’t even asking me, the asshole. He was addressing Colt.

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