Page 13 of Killer Kiss

Which, of course, meant her sharp stare landed on me instead.

As a girl, I’d shriveled under that gaze. But no longer. At least not on the outside. I threw one right back at her. “She’s your daughter.”

“Much to my disappointment.” Mom poked at the cuticles of her nails. “Is this what you both came here for? It’s boring.”

She really didn’t give a shit. I didn’t have any kids. I shuddered at even the thought of them. They were not in my future plans. But even I had more maternal instinct than she did. We’d never been something for her to love and cherish. We were just assets. Designed and raised to be her little killers and carry on the family business, now that she and Dad were too old.

I fought to keep my anger at bay. “You knew, didn’t you? That she was missing? You spiteful bitch—”

Mom flapped her hands around dismissively. “Oh, Ophelia. Stop being so dramatic. I hear things. That’s my job. Which, by the way, pays for that comfortable little setup you have in Spain, and the house your brother and his…whatever…live in. Or have you forgotten that?”

His whatever? Bliss and War and Nash were his family. Not that she had any idea what that was.

“And Fawn, Mom?” I spat back at her, refusing to let her torment my siblings. “What does your job do for her? Other than push her to the brink so she’s forced to disown the lot of us?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re awfully quick to point fingers, Ophelia. What exactly have you done for your sister while you were lying on that beach in Spain for the past year, partying and spending my money? Clearly not protecting her.”

My anger spewed over the tentative hold I’d had on it. “Oh, that’s rich. I wasn’t even in the country and yet it’s my fault? Maybe it’s your fault for trying to force her into your damn business when you know very well she was never cut out for that life.”

“Not like we ever got a choice either,” Vincent muttered.

He wasn’t wrong.

Mom slammed her palm down on the counter. “Enough! You two are so incredibly ungrateful! Your father and I have done nothing but provide beautiful lives and opportunities for you. Look around you! Do you see all those mindless zombies out there, working nine-to-five every day like slaves? Is that what you want?” She scoffed, “You’d be a terrible hairdresser, Ophelia.” She turned Vincent’s way. “You think you’d cut it sitting at an office for eight hours a day?”

“I liked working at the daycare center,” Vincent said quietly.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Minimum wage, Vincent. You have a family to support, don’t you? Isn’t that hussy of yours knocked up? You of all people should understand the sacrifices that have to be made to be a good parent.”

I burst into laughter at the irony of her handing out parenting advice. “Yeah, you’re a great fucking parent, Mom. Fawn hated everything about this family so much she refused to have anything to do with any of us. Vincent is so fucked up he needs an alter ego just to cope.”

She glared at me. “And you? How have I fucked you up, my dear?”

“I killed someone with a knitting needle yesterday, Mom. That should probably give you an idea. I find men and sex so boring I can’t have any sort of relationship. And every job I’ve ever had I’ve been fired from when they started noticing how fucking weird I am.”

“You aren’t weird,” Vincent told me.

I shot him a look. “Thank you, but coming from you, that’s not exactly a compliment.”

He didn’t argue, probably because he knew I was right.

Mom pointed her bony finger at me. “You can’t blame me for something you enjoy.”

My mouth dropped open. My ass, I couldn’t blame her. Everything I was, was because of her. “You think I was born wanting to do this? You think I want to enjoy killing people?”

“But you do, don’t you? You both do.”

I shook my head, moving away from the counter and edging toward the door. “This is messed up. I don’t even know why I came here. Of course you’re going to do nothing to find Fawn.”

“She made her decisions. Now she has to live with the consequences.”

“She’s twenty-two, Mom! She’s a goddamn baby!”

“What were you doing at twenty-two, Ophelia?”

I ground my teeth. At twenty-two, and for many years afterward, I’d been my mother’s puppet. This was exactly why I’d left and gone overseas. Except my upbringing had followed me. Even when I hadn’t wanted them, my mother’s ‘job bags’ had been delivered to my apartment in Spain and I’d never been able to ignore them.

I’d always had to feed the beast inside me.

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