Page 11 of Killer Kiss

3

OPHELIA

Ipulled into the driveway of my mother’s house a moment after my little brother did.

Not that he was really all that little anymore. I was tall, but he still had a good few inches on me. He closed his door and came over to lean on mine while I shoved my phone and keys into my purse.

I was stalling because I didn’t want to go inside. From the street, the house was beautiful. A sprawling Providence mansion with well-tended gardens and expensive vehicles in the eight-car garage.

All perfectly designed to conceal the horrors that lurked inside.

My mother being the biggest danger of them all.

Dread bubbled up in my stomach every time I came here.

Scythe stared up at the house with a deep frown between his eyebrows, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He seemed about as thrilled as I was. If it had been for anything other than Fawn, I doubted either of us would ever come here willingly.

It was bad enough FaceTiming from across the ocean.

How I missed my apartment in Spain. I missed the beach and the people and that it was nothing like this fucking place. My family’s shit had still followed me there, but not this overwhelming feeling of apprehension that swamped me now.

Not that I’d ever let my mother or even my brother know it bothered me. We didn’t do that in our family. Weakness wasn’t tolerated.

Just look at where being soft had gotten Fawn.

Probably fucking dead.

I poked Scythe’s biceps, trying to lighten the mood. “Stop staring at Mom’s house like you’re going to burn it down. Not saying you can’t do it. That might actually be fun, and I’ll help. Bonus points if she’s in it when it happens. But please, just not tonight. We have other things to discuss right now.”

He drew his gaze slowly back to me, and my mistake registered.

I swore under my breath. “Vincent. Sorry. I forgot how quickly you and Scythe can switch back and forth these days.”

Vincent had always been the dominant personality, only letting Scythe out to play when the messed-up world we’d been brought up in got too much. For years he’d fought to keep Scythe at bay, locked up in a prison in his mind.

Until a series of events—a stint in prison, being caught then tortured, and falling in love—had made keeping Scythe locked up an impossibility. The two switched back and forth freely now, and from what I could tell, they were both happier for it.

I loved that he’d found some joy. He’d spent way too many years being antagonized and used by our mother. He deserved some peace.

Yet here I was, dragging him right back into it.

There was nothing else for it, though, when the problem was our sister.

“How’s Bliss and War and Nash?” I asked him, trying to make small talk to keep him from actually slitting our mother’s throat before we got what we needed from her. “Bliss popped out your devil spawn yet?”

Vincent frowned at me as we walked as slow as humanly possible to the front door. “Don’t call my child devil spawn, Ophelia. I don’t like that.”

I tucked my arm into his, well used to his formal, matter-of-fact manner after growing up with him. Scythe was a smart-ass who would have laughed at my teasing, but Vincent wasn’t the same. “You’re right,” I assured him. “I’m sorry. Being around here makes me stabby.”

“Do you want to borrow my knife? I have a spare.”

He’d said it with the utmost seriousness. That was Vincent to a T. Quiet and serious. But scarily lethal.

I grinned up at him. “You always do. But I’m good.” I patted my bag that may not have held a knife, but who needed a blade when I had knitting needles sitting right next to my favorite gun?

Some siblings made small talk about sports or their jobs. My brother and I compared weapons. It was just the way we were.

I’d maybe even missed it a bit. I’d been away for a long time, which had been my decision, but it meant I rarely got to speak freely. I was forever censoring myself, because when your new friends called you up for dinner and asked what you’d been up to, you could hardly just say, “Hey, I stabbed a guy in the jugular yesterday. Please pass the salt.”

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