Page 55 of Riot

Tears brim in her eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I promise he’s not someone you need to worry about. You believe me when I say that, right?”

I love my sister, but she’s wrong. Link is the exact person to worry about. He’s the devil with a credit card and mortgage.

I don’t know how she does it. Even after everything she’s been through, Maylie still looks for the good. She doesn’t see the monsters in the shadows or the darkness built into the genes of men like my ex.

I lived there, breathed that horror like it was oxygen. I know exactly how bad things can get.

But she’s pregnant, and I don’t want to scare her, so I do the only thing I can.

I lie.

“Of course.” It tastes bitter on my tongue, but it’s worth it when her shoulders relax.

It only lasts a second before the tension seeps back into her. “Is that why you don’t leave the apartment? You’re scared of running into him?”

I freeze. It’s bad enough I have to fight my demons, I’m not handing them to her too.

My smile is forced. “I don’t leave the apartment because I have a two-month-old baby and look like a reanimated corpse most of the time.”

“I concur.” Toby smirks. “You’d scare the neighbours right now.”

“Thanks,” I drawl.

Maylie doesn’t buy it.

Give her something, a breadcrumb, anything to stop her digging.

“And for your information,” I say flatly, “I am leaving the apartment. I’m having lunch with Dayna and Katie.”

My sister’s frown softens into a smile. “You are?”

“Yep. On Saturday.”

“That’s good. You’ll have so much fun.”

Why did I say that? Now, Ihaveto go and pretend I’m okay.

ELEVEN

RIOT

“You okay?”

I twist to look over my shoulder at Nicky as he sidles onto the stool next to me and rests his elbows on the bar top.

That’s a loaded question, and one I don’t want to answer. If he means in the literal living and breathing sense, then yeah, I’m fucking fine.

But when it comes to the burning destruction around the rest of my life…

No.

All I’ve been thinking about is Ivy. She consumes my every thought. The lies I’m telling her are knives to my chest every time she looks at me like I hang the moon.

She thinks I’m her knight in shining armour, when really, I’m the devil in leather and denim.

I’m dancing on a razor wire over a flaming pit, waiting to fall. I know I can’t tell her the truth—I’ve had to come to terms with that—but every smile she gives me, every inch of softness, doesn’t feel earned.

This shit is like a cancer eating through my body, and for the first time in a decade, it’s not just me I’m angry with, but my brother.

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