Page 108 of Moth to a Flame

And despite myself, I tell her.

“Obsessive, jealous woman married the man who loved her more than anything. They had a son. She celebrated when she ended up miscarrying her second pregnancy. Ate cake and drank champagne and laughed. She hated the girl in her womb. She was happy when hercompetitionwas gone. Fast forward a few years later, the woman loses her goddamn mind and kills the man she loved, then herself. The end.”

Regan stares me dead in the eye, listening to my story.

As if she can take it. As if she can take me.

Maybe she can.

“What were their names? Your family’s.”

“Why do you care?” As soon as I snap, I wish I could swallow the words back. I curse under my breath. “They’re not important. They were and then they weren’t.”

Her lips purse as she considers me a second time. “We’re equals, aren’t we?”

A punch to the gut. That’s what her question does to me.

I do control Regan. I do own her. But she’s not less than in any way.

“Have I given you a reason to think otherwise?”

“You haven’t.” Wickedness dances in her eyes. “Which is why I’m asking to have a free use card as well. No, demanding. I’m demanding it.”

My dick stands at attention. My head cocks to the side at the turn our conversation has taken. “You’redemandingto fuck me whenever and however you like?”

“Maybe someday in the future.” Her eyelashes flutter. “Tonight, this”—she pokes me in the chest—“is the free use I’m demanding. I’m cashing in. Tell me about yourself.”

Regan is sweet. Too sweet and it’s impossible for me to take another second of it. It’s even harder when the memories flash before my eyes.

“It’s only fair,” she says.

It is.

It is.

The more I repeat it in my head, the more this…peaceful sensation falls over me.

I can tell Regan. I can tell her, and it’ll be okay.

“Axton and Abigail. I wasn’t allowed to name my sister.” Our bodies are pressed together, her hands mashed between us. My voice turns into a harsh whisper. “I named her anyway. Lanny. So she’ll always be a part of me.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

The ocean water isn’t as maddening with Regan in my arms. I won’t push her away anymore. I’m keeping her.

“Mom wasn’t just happy about the miscarriage. She was over the moon when she started bleeding and then in the hospital. Dad was devastated. I didn’t see him for days. My guess is, he drank and cried by himself, after Mom went to bed, so she wouldn’t think he loved the unborn child more than he loved her. Had to be it.”

Regan shudders. I’m not sure if it’s the chill of the night or my story.

As if the answer matters.

What matters is she’s shivering. I fold her into my arms, pressing my forehead to hers.

“Next time anyone mentioned my sister around our home, it was me. Mom slapped me across the face that year for telling hermy little sister had a name. After that, there was no more talk about her.”

“Did she do that a lot?” Anger. I see it swelling in her as if we were standing under clear blue skies. She’s angry on my behalf. “Hit you?”

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