Page 51 of The Spider & the Storm

“Prison,” I replied through a tense jaw, the word spoken as a dare for her to continue with her questions. To ask what he'd done, why he was there, how long he'd been there, and how many years he was meant to rot behind bars before he'd be sent back out into the wild, like a fucking animal.

He did it to himself, I had to remind myself. And that was the truth, but, dammit, I didn't have to like it.

Especially when he wasn't the only one who'd deserved that fate.

But she didn't ask. She just took on a certain look of empathy I hadn't expected, and then she nodded with finality. A period at the end of the sentence, the closing of the book, and just like that, my soul dared to look out from the cold, dark cell I'd shut it in, and with slender, shadowy, tangled fingers, it reached out.

Stop it.

She tucked her hand into the black leather satchel at her hip and pulled something out—a white envelope—then handed it to me.

I looked at it skeptically before slowly accepting. “What is this?”

“An invitation.”

I narrowed my eyes at the heavy paper in my hand, unable to meet her gaze with mine. “To what?”

“We're throwing my boss a birthday party the weekend before Halloween,” she explained, my flesh zinging with anxiety at the wordHalloween. “A bunch of people are coming. Nothing too crazy, but I asked if I could invite someone, so …” Shegestured toward the envelope with splayed fingers. “You’re my someone.”

My eyes flitted up toward hers for just a brief second as I asked, “Why?”

“Your charm and warm, welcoming personality, of course.” She tipped her head in the direction of the axe. “And your penchant for carrying sharp objects.”

My smirk was reluctant, and I tried desperately to fight it, but there it was as I thought about the box cutter and chef's knife I’d also wielded in her presence.

“Everybody likes free food and booze,” she added, her tone softer now.

“I don't drink,” I muttered as the memory of too many of Luke’s drunken nights came to mind.

I looked at her face in time to see her smile.

“Well, that would make two of us then.”

“Hmm,” I grunted, otherwise unmoved.

“But you do eat, right?”

Then, just like that, before I could say anything more, she turned and began to walk away toward the open gate.

I stared at the envelope in my hand for a second, taking note of the wordSpiderwritten in swirly cursive. Then, as I was about to crumple it in my hand and stuff it into my pocket, another murder of crows scattered through the sky. Cawing and calling, startling me from the task of discarding the invitation I never intended to use.

Three black birds took purchase on the roof, just feet from where I stood. They looked at me, cocking their heads in jerky,surreal motions. Their dark eyes watching as I swallowed and took a deep breath.

Then, for some stupid reason, I sneered at the trio as if responding to an unspoken message and begrudgingly left the axe against the stump as I stomped my way back into the house with the only party invitation I'd ever received in hand.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CONNECTICUT, AGE TWENTY-ONE

When I was twenty-one, Luke was twenty-four, and in most ways, that three-year gap had seemed to disappear entirely.

Except in the way that he looked like he'd lived decades longer than me.

And in the way that, a lot of the time, it was me who felt like the older brother.

More responsible. More put together.

Luke's skin wrinkled in ways that a lot of twenty-four-year-olds didn't; his voice sounded hoarser, throatier; and his eyes held more experience and street-smart wisdom. I'd known it was from the years of smoking, questionable socialization, and alcohol abuse, yet it never ceased to surprise me every now and then when I caught a glimpse of him across the dinner table or in the upstairs hallway, passing him on my way to the bathroom.

---