Page 82 of Cruel Devil

“A mask?”

“People all wear masks.” I take a small sip of water, and then glance at the bottle on the floor beside Nyx. “I’m gonna need more of whatever the hell that is.”

Nyx leans over, setting her water bottle down to free up her hands, a stub of Twizzler stuck between her lips like a cigarette. She raises the bottle, squinting to read the name in the scarlet glow beaming out from under the chairs.

She chuckles. “Tears of fucking Llorona, if you can believe that shit.”

I’d just taken a sip of water, and most of it ends up on my sweats as I burst out laughing. “God, seriously?”

She bends over again, busying herself refilling our shots.

I stretch over the empty seat to take the shot she offers me. We both cheers, silently this time, before tossing the clear liquid down our throats.

This time I barely cough. Nyx makes a face and shakes her head before setting her shot glass down on the floor and picking up her water.

“I know what you mean about the mask thing,” she mutters.

“Yeah?” I’m starting to feel warm and fuzzy. Llorona must have been a powerful bitch if her tears are already having such a noticeable effect.

“I was a runner for the mob.” Her voice is hollow, her eyes fixed on the water bottle in her lap. “I met so many people on my drops. They didn’t have a choice but be involved, one way or the other. You wouldn’t look at them twice if they passed you on the sidewalk.”

She finally makes eye contact with me again, her blue irises dark in the red light.

“I think some of them have worn their masks for so long, they’ve forgotten how to take them off.”

There’s such intensity in her eyes, I have to look away. I’ve always had a problem with eye contact.

It takes on a whole different meaning when someone is demanding you look at them as they hurt you, defile you, break you.

“Another,” I croak, gesturing with my chin.

I can see her glancing up at me every few seconds as she pours us each another shot, but now I’m the one staring at my hands as they try to throttle my bottle of Evian.

We silently salute each other with our shots, and toss them back in unison. It’s getting easier, but Nyx hardly seems to know the difference between her water and Llorona’s Tears anymore.

Apparently I’m not the only one waking up with a hangover tomorrow.

“Vito told you about the auction, right?” Nyx asks in a tight voice.

“Yeah.” I toy with my bottle cap. “I’m so sorry your sisters have to go through all this shit.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then blurts out, “How’d you make it out in one piece?”

My mouth moves around before I can find words. “I…I’m not sure I did. I mean…I have some serious issues.”

“So it’s game over for them? If they survive, they’ll be fucked up for life?”

I shrug. “I mean, I don’t know them. I don’t know how strong they are. There were women with me who broke down after the first day and never recovered. Some of them didn’t even seem phased. I don’t know which of the two types have the best chance at leading normal lives, but if your sisters are anything like you, they’ll fight.”

Her mouth forms a line. “It’s all my fault.” Her words are shaky, her eyes gleaming.

I kick her again, harder this time. “You are not responsible for this asshole O’Brien’s actions.”

“He wouldn’t even have known about them if it wasn’t for me.” Her voice is starting to crack, and she savages another Twizzler like she wishes it was Sullivan’s windpipe she was sinking her teeth into.

Fuck, if she starts crying, I’m going to start crying.

“Did you give him permission to take them?” I snap, annoyed that someone as strong and fierce as Nyx would dare feel sorry for herself like this.

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