Page 22 of Vicious Addictions

Jude

Nineteen years old

The rain lashes against the windowpane, each drop striking against the glass as if it had some sort of vendetta against it. With my arms crossed over my chest, I watch with contempt as lightning illuminates the far horizon, bringing with it the only ray of light this god awful gray day will get.

Usually, walking among the roses and ivy in the garden would be enough to clear my head and uplift my mood, but today, I don’t have that option. Instead, I’m left feeling like a caged animal in this grand manor—trapped inside its walls, unable to shake the feeling that they are closing in on me.

“You look bored,” Mina’s voice cuts through the quiet, pulling me from my troubled thoughts.

Suffocated, more like.

“That obvious, huh?” I respond, glancing over my shoulder to find Mina watching me with an amused glint in her eyes.

“A little.” She smiles, stepping closer to me. “Not a fan of rain, I gather?”

I shake my head, focused on the storm outside that promises to ruin my weekend.

“Hmm, I see,” she muses, now standing beside me. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but rain is a significant part of English weather.”

“So I’m finding out.” I frown.

“Don’t fret,” she adds optimistically. “I’m sure you can find something to do to take your mind off the weather. Don’t you have some new book to read?”

My brows furrow at her remark. “How do you know I like to read?”

“Because I pay attention.” Mina grins as if she knew something I don’t. “And because I grew up with two boys who’ve probably never cracked open a book in their lives. Meeting someone who actually enjoys reading? That’s rare. And noteworthy.”

“Remus and Rolo don’t exactly scream ‘bookworm,’ do they?” I chuckle.

“No, they do not.” She laughs. “They’re more the ‘throw books into bonfires’ types.”

I wince at the image she just painted.

“Please tell me they haven’t actually done that.”

“No, of course not. It was a joke, cowboy.” She laughs. “My cousins are a little unhinged, yes, but they’re notthatbad.”

I have my doubts.

“Good to hear, because to burn a book or prevent anyone from diving into its pages is an unforgivable act. Such a thing is not only a crime but an assault on the very essence of knowledge and imagination.”

She tilts her head my way, looking utterly intrigued. “That’s a lot of passion for the written word.”

“I guess it is.”

Aside from my family, there aren’t many things I believe to be sacred.

But books, be it fiction or non-fiction, are definitely in my top five of things not to fuck with.

I have my mother to thank for the obsession.

The best memories I have of my childhood revolve around my mother reading to me. Every night before bed, I would pick one of the books we brought from the library, and we would delve into it together, creating a bond between us that felt unbreakable.

But that was before we moved to Chicago.

Before the Outfit touched our lives.

Mina studies me for a beat before crossing to the other side of the room. She halts at a table on which a chessboard is set up, gently running her fingers over the back of a chair before lifting her gaze to meet mine.

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