Page 52 of Broken

I had proof right there that she wasn’t one hundred percent fit. And yet, aside from all these ramblings of wings and angels and God’s plan, she seems lucid. But then, so do I.

I blink at her as she repeats, “Where’s your first-aid kit?” Then, when I point to a cupboard below the sink, she sighs.

And even though she’s messed with my sanity to the point where I don’t know what’s up and what’s down, I watch her carefully as she opens the cupboard and takes a step back so she can look inside without bending first.

I wonder how many other adaptations she’s having to make in her regular life to transition into this new phase, one where she’s a little less mobile than I sense she’s used to being.

It’s more proof that she’s not as stable as she might seem.

That golden hair just looks like it’s styled into an edgy cut. Her face is thinner than the last time I saw her on TV, but that could be down to some fad diet.

She appears normal. Inside that beautiful head, she’s anything but, and that makes her dangerous.

Just asIappear to be normal.

But inside my head, her danger calls to me. Like a moth to the flame, my only desire is to feel warmth after being forsaken for so long…

Have I finally been found?

CHAPTER 18

Savio

Your Star - The All-American Rejects

“You’re not the first person who thought they could help me.”

The words fall from my lips despite my inner cravings.

“No.” Her tone’s absentminded but it’s not a question.

She knew that already.

“You must have been a child when I was taken captive.”

“Just turned seventeen. You didn’t get them, did you?”

“Get what?”

“My letters?”

My brows lift. “No.”

She just hums.

“What letters? You wrote to me?” Annoyed when she doesn’t answer, I clench my jaw. “Where did you send them?”

“Whichever parish you were in at the time. The archdiocese I contacted seemed willing to help an old member of your flock who wanted to keep you updated on their travels…”

“You lied,” I grouse, my tone disapproving.

“How else would I have found your addresses? Not that they were all that helpful in the end. You didn’t get any of them. So who’s the worst liar in this scenario?”

My nose crinkles at her silent ‘so there.’

“What about the fallen parishioners?” I ask, keeping my words careful.

“The ones you murdered, you mean?” is her bland retort.

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