Page 97 of Moth to a Flame

And it’s only been three days.

I don’t and won’t ever take her trust lightly.

I’ve been doing everything in my power to keep the smile on her face and the parole hearing out of our conversations.

Behind the scenes, I stay alert. Prepared. I have a new duffel filled with a serrated knife and a baseball bat with spikes on it.

Every night before I go to bed, I pray to the universe for Lester’s early release.

May he be an exemplary prisoner with an immense sense of repentance, in the name of the universe and any god who’s willing to listen, amen.

“I’m holding down the fort. For Grandma and Grandpa.” Rosemary sniffles, tearing me from my thoughts.

I never had the chance to meet my sister. Rosemary is the closest thing I have to one, and my rotten heart aches uncomfortably whenever we reach this part of the conversation.

Besides being overprotective, the woman is funny. When there are no customers in the store, the three of us talk about books and she and Regan share their childhood memories with me.

In my house, it was always fire and passion. Fights and accusations and too-loud makeup sex. In Regan’s, other than the tragic night in the park, their lives were creepy and loving, and full of laughter.

I make a mental note to draw more information out of Regan on the ride home. I have to learn everything about her. Everything.

“The invitation doesn’t have an expiration date,” I add, wrapping an arm around Regan’s waist and pressing her to me. “Just so you know.”

Thankfully, I’m not in one of my restrictive suits today. Through my sweater, I can feel her body melding into mine.

Why would I need a suit when I don’t visit my office?

I haven’t been there in over a week. I’m perfectly capable of managing my business from my corner in Everglow Repairs or from home.

For the time being—or for all eternity—I need to take care of Regan.

Having her wander around the house is the most rope I’m willing to give her.

“Oh, the two of you are so wonderful together. Both of you in black.” A tear slips out of Rosemary’s eye. “Have I mentioned how much I love it when you color coordinate? You make a beautiful couple.”

Regan insisted. I never tell her no. Fuck, I don’t even roll my eyes at how corny it is.

I’m a thirty-five-year-old man. I can handle corniness.

A little.

Well, fine. As much as Regan would like. Anything to make her happy.

Another thing that’d make her happy? My cock shoved up her pussy while I order her to keep her eyes on my new tattoo.

“We’ll get going.” Guess I am being a prick, after all. I nudge Regan into her sister’s arms for one last hug. Then we’re out.

The first thirty minutes of the ride home are spent without either of us saying a word. While I navigate through the city’s traffic and into the interstate in my Porsche, I let Regan unpack from the long day.

She chooses songs like Hippie Sabotage’s “Devil Eyes,” which plays in the background right now, closes her eyes, and leans back on the headrest.

But, just like every other day, I get restless after enough time has passed.

“You owe me, little one.” My fingers lace into hers, and I pull our joined hands over the console, stealing a glance at her.

“Owe you?” She flutters her eyes open, and that flash of brown sets my blood on fire. “For what?”

A flash is all I can afford at the moment, unless I want to crash into the SUV in front of us.

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