Page 104 of Shadows in Bloom

Nikita snorted, a tear rolling down his cheek even as he flashed what had to be the fakest smile Ledger had ever seen. “Unless you count his sore knuckles, not at all. But this is nothing. At this point, I’m always just glad he didn’t kill me. Up until now, I thought there was always a next time, but I suppose that’s not something I’m going to have to worry about anymore. Since you’ll do the job for him. Right?”

For the second time that night, all the humor drained away.

CHAPTER 2

Nikita had always had shit luck.

His mom had died a week after his birth in a freak accident, and his father had spiraled into a dark depression, leaving him to be raised mainly by his vicious aunt, who had more interest in spending his father’s coin than caring for Nikita.

At two years old, he got sick and needed to be hospitalized, where he’d stayed until he was finally released at the age of five.

However, the home he’d returned to hadn’t been the one he’d left. While his aunt had spent her time in and out of the hospital “taking care of him” his father had been rekindling an old flame with a high school sweetheart. Nikita didn’t know all the details, just that while he’d been ill, his father had remarried, and the two had gotten pregnant.

His brother was already the same age he’d been when he’d entered the hospital, and even though that wasn’t very old, Oran had gotten used to being the only child in their household. That was something he’d never gotten over.

In the beginning, Nikita had made the mistake of catering to his brother’s whims in the hopes he would warm up to him. That had never happened, in fact, all he’d managed to do was aid in spoiling Oran past the point of return. Eventually, it’d stopped being a conscious decision, and Nikita had found himself acting as Oran’s slave more than a family member.

That was what had brought him here tonight even. A dare. Another foolish attempt to get his brother to stop tormenting him by doing what he was told.

Pathetic.

He was three years older and yet had no backbone against his family, not his brother or his parents, all of whom couldn’t give two shits about him on a good day. His father had seen the bruises before, had no doubt heard some of the beatings, but had never said or done anything to acknowledge or intervene.

Nikita had no one, and now it was highly likely he was going to die the same way he’d lived.

Alone.

And on his back.

The only upside, he supposed, was that his killer was a hundred times more attractive than Oran.

Ledger Undergrove was leaner than some of the other Devils, but no less fit. Nikita could feel the muscles on him pressed against his body wherever they touched. He had sharp features and shoulders broad enough that they blocked out some of the high ceiling with him leaning down over him the way he was.

He also looked confused, as though Nikita had just spoken in a foreign language Ledger wasn’t familiar with.

“Your brother?” Something about Ledger’s voice was different when he spoke next. It was deeper, with a sharp edge to it that had Nikitia’s already frayed nerves growing even more frazzled. “What did you do to him to make him want to hurt you?”

He couldn’t help it, he snorted. “Exist?”

“Seems a bit extreme.”

It sounded like Ledger didn’t believe him, but Nikita was used to that.

“He’s only my half-brother. He hates me,” he said. “They all do. My father for ruining what could have been his perfect, fresh start family. My stepmother for existing in the first place as a reminder of the woman my father used to love. And my brother…Well. He just hates me in general. Always has.”

“Only a half-brother. As if that should make a difference.” It was hard to tell if he’d heard anything else Nikita had just told him since he seemed so hung up on that one detail. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.” It was a fairly young age to die. At least he’d already made his peace with that.

At least that meant he could finally stop hurting.

“You’re just a kid.”

Nikita actually managed to feel an inkling of offense. “We’re practically the same age.”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Wow. Two whole years.”

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