Page 118 of Prodigal Son

He was an emotionless bastard, he knew. Literally, most of the time. But sometimes…sometimes, he did care. A little too much. And then he pushed, and pushed, because he didn’t think anyone else did.

He’d pushed too hard, here. And ordinarily, that was his cue to get up and walk away. He pushed the people in his life to points of anger and despondency they couldn’t come back from, not without him reaching out to bridge the divide. But did he ever do that? No. He left. Always.

Just like Devin.

He’d spent his whole life hating that he was most like his father out of the nine of them…and then doing Devin-like things over, and over, and over again anyway.

Fox sat up, heart pounding. “Eden.” He reached out, slow, even though she wasn’t looking at him, and carefully, carefully tucked her hair behind her ear. He left his hand there, fingers caught in the silky tangles the pillow had left behind – he’d always loved her hair a mess, evidence of passion and imperfection – and studied her face. Lower lip caught between her teeth, bitten hard enough to turn it white. Fast flicker of her lashes.

“Eden,” he said again, and moved to cup the back of her neck; he felt her pulse running hard beneath his fingertips. “I know I’m cold. I don’t mean to be.”

“Ha,” she said without a bit of humor. “That makes two of us, then.”

“I have a very bad habit,” he continued, “of hurting the people I love the most. And I still haven’t figured out how to ever apologize properly.”

Her head whipped around, eyes wide. Glassy with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean much at this point, and you can hate me, or slap me – I get it, yeah. But I wanted you to know that–”

She laid a finger against his lips. She didn’t seem to be breathing, was instead vibrating. “You said ‘love,’” she murmured. “The people you love most.”

He swallowed. “I did. Yeah.”

She leaned in close, until her finger was all that separated their mouths. “Do you mean that?”

“Yeah. I always have.”

She studied him a long, tense moment, gaze tracking back and forth between his eyes. Then she pulled her hand down, and kissed him.

It wasn’t like before, up on the roof, desperate, and clinging, and bursting with heat. This was slow, and lush, and intimate.

When she pulled back, her expression had settled into something new and surprising; she seemed to glow, radiating with some newfound inner light, and the sight of it tightened his stomach in a pleasant way.

“Don’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed today, Charlie,” she commanded softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Thirty-Three

The Pseudonym building gleamed like cut crystal, lit from the ground up by outdoor spotlights, a showpiece that dazzled even amidst the rain and the gathering dark. Thanks to the slope of the land, several artfully designed parking garages, and the faceted shape of the building itself, there were at least a dozen entrances. Tonight, a line of rain-slick limos snaked along a patch of lit-up garden to a pair of double glass doors covered by an awning.

“Remember,” Ian said in the back one of these limos, picking invisible lint off his cuffs, “I’ll do all the talking. Go where they tell you” – this he said to Reese and Evan – “and wait for the signal.”

Both boys wore long black coats with the collars popped up, sweats, and sneakers. Raven had said they looked like off-duty models, and Mercy would just have to take her word for it. She’d also done some dramatic – in Reese’s case frightening – things with their hair and makeup. They didn’t look like themselves at all.

Ian, however, hair elaborately braided, lashes and brows darkened, sharp cheekbones honed to razor edges with a few strokes of a brush, seemed to be enjoying the hell out of all this.

Mercy elbowed him. “Having fun?”

The dealer cut him a grin. “Oh, yes. I never get to do this sort of thing.”

“You mean be superior, and mean, and make everybody in the room feel about two inches tall?”

“No, that’s a daily occurrence. But I mean act.” He smoothed his lapels and tipped his head back. “I was going to be a very famous dancer once upon a time, you know.”

“You don’t say.”

Ian snorted. “Mock me all you like. Tonight, you’re my underling.” He chuckled. “I think I’m going to like that.”

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