Page 32 of Wicked Believer
“Oh,” Jax says, her voice a bit more high pitched than usual. “Oh sure, it’s just ... Evie needed a place to crash, and since you haven’t been here in a few weeks, we figured—”
“That I could stay on your side of the room,” Evie finishes. “No biggie.”
“Of course,” I say, a little too fast to be convincing. “Of course. You’re more than welcome to it, Evie.”
I glance between them, meaning to say something more, but I must take a second too long, because Jax gives a tense clear of her throat before she says, “I sent you a text earlier. To ask if it was okay, I mean, but you didn’t get back to me.”
“It’s totally okay.” I nod. “My notifications have been crazy. Don’t worry about it.” I wave a hand, trying to look like I don’t mind, but even to myself, I sound unconvincing.
My throat tightens painfully.
It’s not as if there aren’t plenty of spare beds I could use in the penthouse, even if I don’t want to sleep alone in Lucifer’s bedroom tonight.
I just ... wanted space, that’s all.
Somewhere I could call my own.
My chest grows heavy, the pressure there that never seems to go away lately making it harder to breathe.
Don’t bother to wait up.Lucifer’s words echo through me.
Which means he’ll likely be in Hell all night. Or wherever else it is that he disappears to these days. I’m not entirely certain where he’s been running off to, actually.
“You’re more than welcome to it, Evie,” I add, trying my best to sound reassuring, though as I glance toward her, suddenly I realize why she didn’t ask me if she could take one of the rooms at the penthouse in the first place. “Oh my God, you did it, didn’t you?”
She nods, pressing her lips together before she slowly grins. She launches herself into my arms then, both of us squealing.
Evie finally made her move to temporarily disappear, to get off the media’s radar and out from beneath her older brother’s thumb. As New York City’s former “it” girl and a professional model turned influencer, to the unknowing eye, Evie appears to have everything, but it didn’t take long knowing her for me to recognize that her fame came at a price. A price demanded by the Russian bratva down in Brighton Beach, their off-the-books operations run by her father and her ultra-controlling older brother, Dmitry.
“I wouldn’t have been brave enough without your encouragement, you know,” she whispers to me, sounding uncharacteristically grateful.
I grip her tighter, a sense of pride filling me.
Escaping that kind of toxic, insular life isn’t easy. I know that firsthand.
Though what exactly did it cost her?
I don’t ask as I pull back from our hug, her eyes momentarily settling on me as a haunted kind of knowing passes between us.
It’s the look of survivors, of those who’ve had the courage to escape.
I only hope that Evie doesn’t land herself with yet another villain like I did.
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow past it, turning away quickly. The memory of my father, of Mark, and of all the members of their congregation who hurt me still haunts me.
Only for me to find myself in Lucifer’s waiting arms in the end.
I guess I really am as wicked as they said I’d be.
I frown, pushing the errant thought aside.
“Good for you, Evie,” I say as I turn my attention back toward helping Jax unload our takeout.
I’m happy they’ve connected. I am, truly. I introduced the two of them a few weeks ago when Evie needed entertainment for an A-list celebrity party. Jax was more than willing to do a few readings for Evie and her famous friends, especially at the astronomically generous rate Evie was offering. As an aspiring Broadway actress and a psychic by trade, these days Jax knows how to entertain even the most glamorous crowds. She’s a far cry from her days busking for tourists in Times Square, which is how we met actually.
I catch her eye, and she smiles knowingly. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes how much her kindness then still means to me. I’d had barely any money when I first showed up in the city, and at NYC prices, only enough to float me for maybe a month or two, at most.
I’d been standing in the middle of the street, half awestruck, half overwhelmed by the enormity of it all—by the skyscrapers, the savorysmell of the food carts on the corner serving Nathan’s hot dogs, the hundreds of people, the massive flashing billboards—uncertain where to go or what to do next now that I’d made it to safety.
