Page 102 of Masks and Mishaps

“Get a grip,” he snaps back, making Essie’s eyes widen with surprise.

Right then, all the tension in my body surges into my arms. My hands ball into fists—the cut on my hand be damned—and decades of friendship instinctually send Lander and Everett lunging to keep me from rising out of my chair.

They can’t stop me from talking though.

“Don’t fucking speak to her like that, Christian,” I call across the table, and he glares, but I’m not done. “If you ever disrespect Essie again, our next family get-together is going to be your goddamn funeral.”

“A funeral?” Christian sneers. “How generous. I figured you’d bury me in the back with the women you’ve hurt.”

Oh shit.

My mother’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“Him,” Christian reiterates, shoving his arm out and pointing at me. “Your son, Alyssa. He’s—”

“You need to stopright now.” Essie stands and stretches over Christian to force his arm down. “You don’t know what you saw.”

“Why are you defending him?” he demands, taking a step back from the table with his face contorted. “He’s a serial killer! Or a deviant, or a night prowler, or a psychopath, or—”

“Can you stop it?” Essie hisses, trying to move her brother to the door to the dining room, but he doesn’t budge.

“Dad,” he continues, facing Porter, “I can’t let you marry Alyssa and bring him into this family. He should be put away.”

Porter, who hasn’t said a damn word, shakes his head. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Finally, I move to my feet. “Christian thinks he saw me doing something yesterday, and he’s misinterpreting it.” I look at Christian and dip my chin. “We should go talk.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” he snaps, looking disgusted.

“What was he doing?” Porter asks.

Essie pulls on Christian’s arm. “Let’s go talk.”

“This is an insane misunderstanding,” I declare.

“Just tell us—”

“Let’s go—”

“He was naked, in the library, wearing a ski mask, and assaulting some girl!” Christian blurts out—and the room goes silent.

“This sounds like the world’s worst game of Clue,” I comment, and when nobody laughs, I shake my head. “You can’t seriously believe what he’s saying.”

“A ski mask?” Luis questions, frowning deeply. “Like—”

“And he was filming it,” Christian continues, glancing around the room, “like atrophy.”

“Well,” Lander comments as he stands, “if I’m hearing you correctly, you’re saying you walked in on Daltonallegedlyattacking someone in the library. What were you doing in the library?”

Confused, Christian draws his head back. “Why does that matter?”

Lander slides his hand into his pocket and raises a shoulder. “You felt a compulsion to read some James Joyce in the middle of the night and conveniently stumbled upon a crime scene?”

“Wait, are you cross-examining him?” Essie demands. “Stop it.”

“It’s a simple question,” Lander replies, feigning innocence. “Why was he in the library?”

“I was stealing liquor from the stash behind the desk,” Christian admits, rolling his eyes.

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