Page 69 of The Devils of Saint City

She glances at me waiting for permission, and I adjust myself so I seem more relaxed as I offer her a soft smile. “Absolutely.”

A little hesitantly, she gets up and heads to her room, just far enough out of earshot that Manson feels comfortable enough to ask, “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I lie, the wound in my leg throbbing when I move around again. “I’m just — do you think she’s happy here or complacent?”

“Does it matter?”

It shouldn’t. And yet... “I thought it would matter to you.”

“It did, at first. But you were right. If the end result is the same, what’s the difference?”

What’s the difference?

Maybe the difference is I’m just now realizing Manson and I are going to die in our line of work — sooner rather than later — and the kindest thing I could ever do for my dear step-sister is set her free. Maybe I’ve lost my fucking mind, but for once I’m seeing why people put others above themselves.

I got my revenge and it didn’t make me feel any better. The only thing that’s ever given me peace is how things have been between us recently, and if it’s all fake... that might actually ruin me.

Or maybe I’m already ruined.

She walks out before I can respond wearing ripped black leggings with fishnets underneath, brand new black leather moto boots, and a lacy dark grey shirt with a neckline that sweeps down between her tits. She looks sexy as hell.

“Now all we need to do is dye your hair and get you some makeup and you’ll be ready for a night on the town,” Manson laughs, but I can tell it stings. We’ve been more lenient with her lately but it’s clear as hell that she knows she’ll never have another night out on any town.

“Thanks. I’d have killed for these leggings b— well... before.”

“I don’t think she needs makeup,” I offer. “Hair dye yes, but I like her just like this. Unless... maybe just some lipstick she could smear on our cocks.”

Manson agrees, but Rhea’s staring down at her outfit probably wondering when the fuck she’s ever going to get a chance to wear it again. It’s another sore reminder that even if sheishappy here, that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be happier out there.

“What’s next?” Manson presses. “What about that little red dress?”

She smiles almost halfheartedly and heads back to her room to change, and I meet his gaze with an expression that says I told you so. “Did you see that look in her eyes?”

“Her eyes? Did you even see her ass in those leggings?”

When did I become the soft one? This isn’t me... this isn’t him... and worst of all... this isn’t her. What the fuck am I going to do?

I barely pay attention to her at all when she comes out in a skin-tight red dress and stilettos, hardly register the ripped jeans, baggy hoodie and black Converse that make her look like every girl next door who ever lived.

It isn’t until she comes out wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt with Gimli’s axe from Lord of the Rings that I start to pay attention again. She heads right for me and curls up in a ball next to me, nuzzling her head under my arm until I lift it to let her in. “I’m tired of changing. Can I stop?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t know how girls do that for hours.” I lean in to inhale her shampoo and meet Manson’s eyes, then decide to lighten the mood a little. “Manson does though, he used to take an hour to pick an outfit when we used to go out.”

“Had to if I wanted to be noticed,” he laughs. “Girls always gravitated toward the devil in you. I hide mine better so I had to compensate.”

He’s not wrong, but none of those women ever had a chance to cuddle up to me the way Rhea is right now. They were just to pass the time. “It worked, you always looked good.”

She sinks a little lower in my lap, resting her head on my uninjured thigh. “And now the Devils of Saint City are off the market so it doesn’t matter anymore. Right?”

“Right,” we say like twins, because both of us know none of those women ever held a candle to her. They never will either. I just don’t know what to do with that knowledge now that my heart has decided to come back to life, because for the first time ever, I want to do what’s best for Rhea.

Even if it costs me everything.

27

Manson

Once again I have to curse myself for not being able to read his mind. I don’t like the look in his eyes, the energy radiating off of him feels akin to mourning, and it doesn’t fucking make sense. Things are going good here. All three of us have smiled more the last week than we have in years, and now Asher is sitting here looking like he’s about to pull the plug. Mr. Self-Sabotage is about to self-sabotage yet again, only this time I’m getting fucked in the process too. I just don’t understand why. “Why are you looking at her like you’re about to say goodbye?”

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