Page 63 of The Devil and His Sparrow

Her hazel eyes bounced from Zagan to me. “What’s the meaning of this? Who is he?”

With alarm quickly flooding my system, I turned to Zagan and whispered, “Can you go wait by the car, please?”

His blue eyes tightened slightly at the edges. He glanced at Mom, who still stood frozen by her car, then back at me. “Sure.”

As he walked toward my car, I approached her with caution. My heart thundered, and the world swam a little as nerves shot through me at blinding speed. I was a fly caught in a spider’s web—stuck with no way of escape.

“Iyla Marie,” Mom snapped. “Who the hell is that man?”

I nearly tripped as I came to a stop in front of her. She never cursed. That was my first warning sign that the carefully crafted bridge between us was crumbling, and I wasn’t sure if there was anything I could do to stop it.

“His name is Zagan,” I answered. My voice came out small like I’d reverted back into the child she used to reprimand at the drop of a hat. “He’s my friend.”

“Friend?” She scoffed and shook her head. “Iyla, I’ve prosecuted criminals that look like that man.”

My body went rigid, and my skin crawled at the comparison. The tattoos. The piercings. The disheveled waves of black hair on top of his head. Black clothes. She saw these things and immediately judged him off it. She saw his self-expression as some sort of admission of unlawfulness.

And that lit an unexpected fire inside of me.

I was used to her jabs at me. I was used to her breaking me down and smothering my self-expression. But she had no right to judge him.

“He’s not a criminal, Mom,” I argued with strength pouring into my words. “He’s actually a singer in a band, and—”

She rolled her eyes and cut me off. “So he’s some poor junkie who takes handouts on the street for a meal? I raised you better than this. How dare you act out like this? How dare you bring that kind of trash here, around these impressionable youth, around your sister? Have you lost your mind?”

My annoyance spiked as a burning desire to defend Zagan washed over me. “He’s been amazing to Gemma and all the patients here. He even went out of his way and brought food for everyone today.”

Her nostrils flared, and her voice rose. “You are awfully defendant of him. Friends? I wasn’t born yesterday, Iyla. You’re not friends. You’re his slut.”

The word was like a slap to the face. Shame, hurt, and guilt followed the sting, rendering me speechless and frozen.

“I have been so good to you your entire life,” she plowed on. “I’ve given you everything there was to give, and all I asked for in return was for you to follow my very simple, easy rules. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You had to leap at the chance to open your legs for some damn thug.”

“Stop it,” I begged as emotion clogged my throat. My pulse pounded in my ears to the point where I wasn’t even sure if my words were coming out loud enough for her to hear them. “Zagan is a great guy.”

Her lip curled in disdain, and she crossed her arms. “Stop seeing him.”

My lip trembled as I stared directly into her eyes. For the first time in my life, I squared my shoulders and said the one thing I’d always been too afraid to. “No.”

Her eyes widened, and she reared back like I’d hit her. She’d expected me to lay down, give in, and continue being the obedient daughter I’d always been. But this was something I couldn’t do. Zagan and I were bonded for life with no way out except death. He was always going to be there, no matter what Mom said. He was also proving to be the greatest sign of hope we’d had for Gemma, and I’d never jeopardize that. Today was proof that our plan was working, which meant we couldn’t stop now.

Even more than that though, I liked having the demon in my life. Somewhere along the journey of sex and healing, I’d come to enjoy him and his presence. There was a certain confidence he gave me, and when I was with him, air came easier. Laughter came easier. The worries of the world fell away for a bit, and life felt fun, something it never had been before. Our friendship had carved space for itself in my heart, and I refused to sand it down.

Mom dropped her arms back to her sides and stepped closer to me, the vision of a stormcloud closing in. “Last chance, Iyla. Stop. Seeing. Him.”

“I. Won’t,” I said through clenched teeth.

Mom flashed me a sinister grin, and the sight made nausea roll through me. The look could only mean one thing—the bridge had finally collapsed.

“Then consider yourself disowned,” Mom said. “Your allowance, your bills, your apartment, your schooling, everything. It all stops here.”

I felt the color drain from my face, and the ground seemed to shift beneath my feet as I rocked slightly. “Mom—”

“I’ll give you the afternoon to get your things—yours, not the things my money bought—out of the apartment. You’re on your own. Find somewhere new to stay. Since you’ve decided to whore around, I’m sure you can find plenty of men to pay for what you need. It doesn’t concern me anymore. I warned you, Iyla. Actions have consequences. You’ll have to live with yours.”

My blood pumped hard, and my chest hurt from the marathon my heart ran. The shock and horror coursing through me quickly morphed into something sharp, hot, and bitter as I stared at my mom—the woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally, the woman who was supposed to always protect me, the woman who was supposed to support me in my attempt at life.

“Right,” I said tightly, not bothering to contain the rage in my voice anymore. “I have to live with my consequences. Just like you. Right, Mom? Just like how I was the consequence for your actions. So now you do everything you can to punish me for your mistake.”

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