Page 193 of Deceit

She wedges her little body between my torso and the table and sits in my lap. “But daddy said you needed a bandaid.” A white piece of paper is then shoved in my face. “And I drew you a picture.”

Plucking it from her tiny fingers, I glance down at the red, purple, and yellow crayon lines that askew all over the white canvas. “I like it.”

“Do you know what it is?” She climbs in my lap as she does all the time. She and I can’t have a conversation without my being her personal chair.

Shit, no clue.

I couldn’t make out a piece of art if I tried. I don’t have an eye for it.

“I see your Uncle Mills,” I say loud enough for him to hear. “He likes being painted in red.”

He chuckles, and Scarlett tosses another piece of green pepper, this time hitting me in the side of the head.

“Noooo,” Madelyn whines, her finger pointing at her artwork. “It’s me and you.”

Damn. Is it possible for your heart to melt a little to words from a little human?

“No, shit,” I reply, tilting my head to the side like it’s going to pop from the page.

“Uncle Kacieeee, bad word.”

“I know, kid, your uncle is working on it.” I wave the picture. “Do I get to keep it?” She bobs her head before I mindlessly kiss the top of it. “Thank you. I’ll hang it up.”

“Time for bed, Maddy,” my sister coos coming to help her off my lap. “Then you can draw tomorrow.”

“I want something,” Mills chimes in. “Can you draw me a dog?”

Madelyn looks him up and down. “No.”

Then she runs to the back of the house towards her bedroom, and I belt out a string of laughter so hard that my stomach hurts by the end of it.

* * *

With the lights off, all I can see is the outline of my brother as he waits for me to give him the signal to move. Two minutes ago, my alarm tripped up during our poker game in the kitchen, and following that, my security cameras pinned on the driveway picked up two pick-up trucks.

It’s one in the morning.

“I’ll take the left,” I mutter on one side of the front door. “You take the right. You sure that—“

“I got it,” Hardy quips. “Just don’t get hurt.”

I should be telling him that, but okay. It’s about time I let someone worry about me. He’s family, my blood, and I’m not alone anymore. I had B723, but I have the people that were there before them right here in my house.

With intruders outside.

“Don’t ask questions,” I relay. “Just shoot. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I wait for the whine of my front porch to give, but nothing does. I cautiously move to the back of the house, looking for moving shadows out the windows but come up empty.

What the fuck?

“We open the door on three,” I order with my finger on the trigger of my silenced Glock. “One…two…three.”

Whipping open the door, a body is already standing there in the light of the porch and smiling from ear to ear like a fucking asshole.

Blue.

“What in the actual fuck are you doing?” I snarl, removing my index finger from the trigger. “I could’ve killed you.”

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