Page 40 of Wild Angel

It doesn’t look like the kind of place I could get into trouble snooping around in. So I start exploring.

Ratty magazines on the coffee table, an unwashed mug and a plate in the small sink. The first door leads to a bathroom with a bath/shower combo. Everything in here is neat, but stained or chipped. There’s a cup with three toothbrushes in it.

Staff quarters.

Now I feel like I’m invading.

I should—

A baby gurgles.

No. Could it be?

Maybe all babies sound the same. I’m only a few years older than my sisters, so I only have recollections of when they were babies. I definitely remember when they were toddlers, running everywhere and putting everything they could find into their mouths. That was around the time I started looking after them.

That was around the time I began hating my mother.

Guilt stabs into me, even now years later.

I didn’t know she was sick. She only told me that a few months before she died. I thought she was lazy. Then I thought she just didn’t give a shit about us. When her eyes became shadowed and her bones began poking at her skin, I thought she was on drugs.

I never thought she was sick, not once. BecauseInever was. I think I got the measles once, and that was it. Yeah, bruises and scrapes and broken bones—but sick? Never.

The baby fusses again. It’s close, a nearby room. I hurry back into the living area.

I focus on the room the sound is coming from and go to put my ear against the door. Silence, then the start of what I’m sure is going to be a fantastic bawling session.

The knob turns, and my eyes land on an old crib nearby. The room is small—there’s barely enough space for the single bed, a nightstand, and this crib.

There’s no one else in here.

It’s just me…and Princess.

Chapter Twenty-One

Nyx

Iknow it’s her as soon as I peer over the side of the crib. And I swear she recognizes me because her beautiful brown eyes light up. She lifts her foot, effortlessly bringing it to her mouth so she can chew on her toes.

God, I wish I was still so flexible.

She looks freshly scrubbed, so I don’t stop her biting on her foot.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” I murmur, grinning at the adorable pink bundle inside the crib.

Princess lets out a burpy hiccup and then makes grabby hands for me.

I pick her up out of the crib and hold her at arm’s length, giving her a little shake. She giggles at me and blows a spit bubble.

“You’re so damn gross,” I groan affectionately. “And I bet you’re hungry too?”

I look around. No bottles, no pacifier—not even a diaper bag. “Where’s your—”

I cut off before I can say,mama.

Her mama’s dead.

“Someone looking after you?” I ask, even though I already know the fucking answer.

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