Page 1 of Savage Devotion
1
ARABELLE
The next hour of my life will either rip my soul from my body, or give me another wave of false hope.
My gut says be prepared for both.
By looking at me you would never know the smile on my face is fake. I’ve sorta been the kind of girl who would rather hide my pain than talk about shit I can’t fix–like my drug addict sister. Bless her, because when I find her again, we will have a serious come-to-Jesus moment because I can’t take this stress anymore.
I fish out the container of Tic-Tacs from my back pocket and suck on the sweetness to help calm my nerves.
Inhale.
Exhale.
All I have to do is hold my heart and soul in place a little bit longer and no one will know I’m slowly dying inside out of fear.
Of the unknown, of life, of being alone. All the above, really.
Dios, ayúdame.
I send up a quick prayer to whoever is up for lending me a hand and hope my guardian angels are listening, too. I need all the help I can get.
My heart gives a small quiver but I force the emotions out of my expression. My poker face has been my greatest asset. That, my spine of steel and my unwavering determination.
And my curse, if you ask me.
I’ve been chasing after my sister for months, and it’s wearing me thin. And between you and me, it’s getting hard as hell to keep my emotions from leaking into my expression at every hour of the day.
I don’t care about many things these days. Just me, my sister, and my little bank account.
The last time I ran after my sister like this was back in New York City. I found her before my fears became reality. She was passed out inside a hollowed-out warehouse known as Needle City with its cracked glass windows and rat infestation. Believe me when I say, it was not how I imagined finding my older sister a day before my birthday.
A twisted knot takes up the place where my stomach should be and tightens to the point I can’t keep anything down lately.
A tatted-up arm slings around my shoulder and I’m drawn in for a side hug. “Hey, come on, Bells. Smile a little. You look like death rolled you out of a speeding car and then kicked you in the tits for laughs and giggles.”
I huff out a sound that is somewhere between exhaustion and acceptance. My best friend is the most direct person I’ve ever met. She doesn’t stop to think about the words that come outof her mouth and never regrets saying a single word. It must be pretty damn freeing to live so openly and with so much confidence. Meanwhile, I have trouble deciding on which coffee creamer flavor I want in the morning.
But not Laila.
“We are going to identifyabody, Laila. I can’t say I’m in a laughing mood.”
My kitten heels click on the craggy stone pavers while Laila’s steps give off a decisive smack. The gritty scrape of her thick tread grips the rain-slicked ground and resonates like a muted heartbeat.
Every step she takes is filled with an irritating confidence I don't feel in the slightest.
We are different in almost every way but we have been through shit and hunting my sister down is just part of life for the both of us.
I cast a quick glance at Laila. Worry grips her pretty face. I blink, and it’s gone. “We’ll find her. We always do.”
Most of the available light comes from muted streetlights and the full moon overhead. I drop my head back and draw in a lungful of humid-laced air. “This game of Where’s Adora is nothing new, but I’m scared it’s come to the end I always dreaded. She’s never been gone this long.”
“No shit. But that’s not the case. It can’t be. Wecan’tthink like that.”
There's a long pause of just putting one foot in front of the other. New Orleans summer humidity sticks to my skin, thickened only by the incoming rain. Sweat beads at the nape of my neck, rollingslowly down my spine beneath my halter top. The sensation is almost unbearable.
“After we meet Detective Lafleur and verify the body, she wants us to see is in factnotyour sister, let’s get hammered and find some good dick.”
