Page 10 of The Beautiful Dead

Wait. I blinked at her, rainwater stinging my eyes. “But I thought?—”

She laughed. Sharp. Mocking. “There’s no room for you here.”

My stomach dropped. “But you said—” I fisted my soaked hair, frustration clawing at my skin like fire ants. “You said I could stay here with Mom.”

“That was then. This is now.”

Her gaze raked over me, slow and deliberate, disgust curling her lip.

“Angelica is here, and she’ll be looked after,” she said, like it was some great favor. Like I was the outsider. “You, however, don’t belong here.”

I could barely breathe. This couldn’t be happening. “But…where am I supposed to go?”

She shrugged. “The mountains? The city? I don’t give a shit. Just get gone. If I see your face around here again, I’ll call the cops.”

I opened my mouth to argue—to fight, to demand answers—but then, I felt it. The presence behind her. A shadow. Brock. I wasn’t short at 5’11, but he towered over me. Broad and thickly muscled. The kind of muscle that looked less like hard work and dedication and more like a side effect of a roid addiction. And his glare? It was a warning. A threat.

But it was lost on me.

I smoothed every trace of emotion from my face, watching Brock like he was nothing more than a mildly interesting experiment. His control started to crack.

The twitch of an eye. The clench of his teeth. Veins pulsing beneath stretched skin as his grip tightened on the doorframe behind Brielle.

“She told you to leave,” he said, voice low and seething like a ticking time bomb. “Or do I need to remove you from the property?”

I rolled my eyes. Tilting my head, I studied them like they were animals in a zoo. “I don’t care about staying where I’m not wanted,” I said evenly. “But I want to see my mom. The doctors said she doesn’t have long.”

For the briefest moment, something flickered in their eyes, but it was gone before I could name it. Then, the door slammed shut in my face.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the weathered wood. Well, I guess I have my answer.

A stray stone sat near my boot, and I kicked it hard, watching it ricochet off the brick driveway before vanishing into the dark. My heart thudded, an uncomfortable, restless beat against my ribs.

Turning on my heel, I headed back toward the ambulance to grab my duffel—the only real proof I existed. Because if I stood there any longer, I’d do something stupid.

Like breaking in or making a point no one gave a shit about. I was good at picking locks, but my kit was buried at the bottom of my bag, the one I didn’t have.

Arti was leaning against the front of the ambulance, cigarette dangling between his fingers. The smoke curled into the damp air, the scent sharp and familiar.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, voice rough.

I didn’t answer. What was there to say?

“Want one?” He held the pack out toward me, flicking the bottom so a cigarette popped forward.

I hesitated but fuck it. Taking one between my lips, I let him light it. The first inhale hit my lungs like fire, and I coughed hard, doubling over for a solid minute.

Arti chuckled. “Been a while?”

I glared at him through watering eyes, but he only smirked, taking another drag. The cherry flared bright red in the darkness. “I’d offer to take you into the city, but…” He trailed off, chewing his cheek like he wasn’t sure how to say what came next.

I spared him the effort. Shrugging my duffel over my shoulder, I unzipped it just enough to pull out my puffer jacket and tug it on over my backpack. The rain was picking up. I couldn’t afford to let my sketchbook get wet. Or my camera. They were irreplaceable. Pieces of me, scrawled in ink and graphite.

“If you head that way—” Arti gestured toward the treeline. “—it’s about a forty-minute walk into town. Once you hit the main strip, go three blocks down. You’ll find Denny’s Diner. If anyone knows where you can crash, it’s Denny and Doll.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

It felt strange—this random act of kindness from someone who owed me nothing. But I’d take it.

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