Page 49 of Pride
Long minutes ticked by. Alice watched the world go by through the windows, people and cars like ants below in the city. To the right, below the Lazarus Tech building, cathedral spires rose into the sky like sharp weapons. Alice touched the window.
“You have one thing wrong,” Alice said quietly. “My life wasn’t ruined after coming to the Sisterhood.”
“But they turned you into a killer, like me. They—”
Punished her? Told her she was going to Hell? This was all true, but Alice and her sisters were a unit. It was them against the world—against Hell, against fate.
“They became my family,” Alice said, rounding on the woman. “They’re my sisters. We look out for each other. We love each other and support each other. Wasn’t it like that for you?”
“I never made friends at the Sisterhood.” Mary’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “You truly don’t want to kill me—us?”
“No.” Alice threw up her hands in frustration, tired of giving the same answer. “I admit, there was a time the Sisterhood did. But when I came there, they were already on another path. After you defected, the Vatican found out about us. You know that, right?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“When you took the kids, you left a gaping hole in the Sisterhood’s cover story for being at the lab. The Vatican was appalled when they found out the Sisterhood kept vital information about the future of those children from them. Everything has changed.”
Mary’s hands twisted in her lap. “And if we join the Sisterhood to beat the Syndicate, what will you do after the threat is neutralized? Will this alliance end? Will you leave us alone?”
“Mary, even if we neutralize the Syndicate, the Sisterhood’s job is only beginning, but a future will be possible.”
The phone started ringing again. Both Mary and Alice looked at it.
“It will be Parker,” Mary said. “I never told him I was coming. He won’t like me meddling. I should go.”
Alice joined her at the door, but before Mary opened it, she looked at Alice with a deep sadness.
“When we first left the lab and finally found a home to settle into, Parker realized that he’d missed out on so many things other children took for granted. He was the last in the family to learn to ride a bike. The last on the street. And the eldest.” Mary’s eyes turned wistful. “I remember him being so determined to learn. It was written all over his face. But he never got on that bike because someone was always watching and judging. I always thought he’d given up, until one night, I heard a crash on the front sidewalk. When I went to investigate, I found him learning on his own. He refused help every time. He even growled for me to leave him alone.
“So I did. I left him alone, but stayed close. I watched night after night as he fell over, scraped his knees, and picked himself up to try again. Eventually he made it the length of the sidewalk but hit into a tree. I ran out there, thinking the worst, and he was so ashamed. He tried to tell me he was fine, but he’d broken his arm.”
“So stubborn,” Alice said, her brows puckering.
“He refused to admit he was in pain, even when we set his arm, but afterward, he also refused to leave my side until he fell asleep.”
Mary took Alice’s hands, and this time, there was no danger, no enemy looking at her but only a woman who cared—a mother.
“Pride is a double-edged sword, Alice. It can drive someone to great heights, but it can make you lose your wings. He doesn’t need someone to help him fly, he’s got that down. He doesn’t even need someone to break his fall. He needs someone strong enough to fly with him into the sun and hold him when it burns. Do you understand?”
Alice thought back to what she’d overheard through the bug she’d planted. Parker was a perfectionist for a reason. He was afraid no one would want him if he failed.
Mary didn’t wait for Alice’s response before swiftly exiting the room, shutting the door behind.
Ringing filtered back into Alice’s cognition. With a sigh, Alice limped over and picked up the phone.
“Parker Lazarus’s office,” she said.
“Alice.” His smooth, deep voice triggered butterflies in her stomach. Just one word, her name, and she was melting like a puddle.
She rapped the phone handset on her forehead, as if she could beat the stupid out. Then remembered he was probably watching so stopped.Damn, girl.
“Alice,” Parker repeated.
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” She paused. “Wait. Were you actually worried?”
