Page 59 of Lust

Her tears fall faster now, and I know she’s getting it. “You’ve killed people before, haven’t you?”

I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but it’s a conversation we need to have, whether now is the right time or not. “Yes,” I say firmly, making sure she understands I don’t regret the things I’ve done.

Her eyes drop momentarily, and when she raises them again, I sense nerves. “What’s it like?”

I hope I do a good enough job of hiding my shock. I kiss her, then step back and sit on the sofa. “You’re not talking about the physicality or mechanics of it, are you?”

“No,” she says, joining me on the sofa as I scrub my hands over my face. “It’s a blot, a stain, on your soul each time you do it. And that stain spreads like a cancer. For some, it takes over them completely, that is the devil at work, wiping out all the goodness inside you. But for others, me and Blake, I like to think, those stains become a way to honour the dead. Not those we’ve killed, because they deserve no honour, but the ones those people hurt. Just like JC.”

“I like that idea,” she whispers as she tucks one leg under herself and turns my way. “Tell me about your family.”

This is definitely not a conversation I want to have, even less than talking about all the people I’ve killed. “What about them?” I ask, unable to hide the bite to my tone.

“Where are they? Do you have any other siblings?”

“They live in Richmond, and I haven’t seen or spoken to them in years. And no, I don’t have any other siblings. Annabel was it.”

“Why? Why don’t you speak to them?”

“Because they don’t approve of my lifestyle, and I’m not talking about how I murder people.” I push to my feet, needing to get away from this conversation.

I pass Blake on the way out, and he grabs my arm, stopping me. “Hey?—”

“I’m good. Just leave it. I’ll be back in a minute.” He lets me go, and I jog upstairs to our room, slamming the door behind me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

BLAKE

Iwatch as Ro disappears upstairs, then enter the lounge. Syd is sitting on the sofa, staring off into space.

“Hey, dinner won’t be long,” I say as I sit beside her.

“Thanks,” she mumbles without looking at me. “I think Roman is pissed off with me,” she adds, finally facing me.

“What happened?”

“I asked him about his family,” she says with a shrug.

“Yeah, that’s a sore subject. Not your fault though. You weren’t to know.”

“I guess.” She looks at her hands in her lap, twirling her fingers. “So, you cook, huh?”

I sit back, happy for her change of topic. “Don’t sound so surprised. I went to culinary school for a year before I had to leave.”

“What are you making?”

I’m glad she didn’t ask why I left culinary school. Like with Ro’s family, my reasons for quitting my dream job are a conversation best left to another time. We have more than enough to work through.

“As long as you like pasta, you’ll be fine.” I give her a wink. We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, and I can see her gaze flicking back and forth to the box on the coffee table.

“You don’t need to wait for us if you want to look through it,” I tell her, leaning over and picking up the box. Placing it between us, I flip the lid open. I reach in, pulling out the photos and hold them out to her.

She looks at the photos then to me, holding my gaze.

“Just look through them. I know it hurts, but it might help too.”

She finally takes them, but instead of looking at them, her hand drops back to her lap where it remains.

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