Page 21 of Devour
I want to ask him if he’s killed someone before, but I don’t. I’m not sure I could handle the answer. This is all so messed up. I never planned for this.
All I wanted was a stable job so I could afford Noah’s treatments. So, he could get a donor. So, he could get better. So, we could just… live.
Not this. Not mob wars and blood-soaked secrets. I place a hand over my chest, willing my heartbeat would just settle, itfeels like the seat belt is digging into my chest and I know it’s not tight.
It’s extremely hard to concentrate with different thoughts going through my head. He flicks a glance at me, then back to the road.
“Take slow, deep breaths.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“You’re hyperventilating.”
I am. He’s right. I sound like an asthmatic pug gasping through panic. I slump against the seat and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth. It doesn’t work. I open my mouth again. “The police—”
“If they contact you, don’t speak to them,” Luca says, his voice hard but calm. “You didn’t see or hear anything. And if you try—”
He glances at me again, then back at the road. A chill rolls over me and I remember. Claudia’s voice.I know where your family lives.
That killing look in her eyes. It was the first time I’d ever felt real fear. The kind that crawls under your skin and stays there. Is he about to threaten me, too?
My body suddenly goes cold, and it’s not from the air conditioning. But then he speaks again, and his tone is different—less threat, more warning.
“You’re not legally obligated to talk to them. No matter what they say or threaten. You have the constitutional right to remain silent, even if you’re arrested or in jail.”
My stomach twists.
“Wait, what do you mean if I’m arrested? Am I going to jail?”
He exhales like I’m missing the point.
“That’s only an example. They won’t arrest you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Harboring a criminal is wrong, my inner voice whispers. And you are one.But I don’t say that out loud. We drive in silence for a while before screeching to a stop in front of my house.
I quickly hop out of the car, muttering, “Thanks for the ride,” without waiting for a reply. My legs move faster than my thoughts, carrying me to the front door. I reach up for the spare key I keep tucked above the frame, my hands trembling.
My bag and house keys are still back at the club and the last thing I was to do is go back there now. I unlock the door and just as I’m about to push it open, I feel him behind me. That weight.
That presence. I turn slowly. He’s standing close, too close, towering over me with that unreadable look in his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to sound firm.
“What does it look like?” he replies smoothly.
“I thought you’d be on your way by now,” I pressed.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing like I’ve just amused him.
“Why? You impatient for me to leave?” His voice is low, dark—dangerous.
That stare—God—makes me want to disappear. I can’t let him inside. Not with pictures of Noah plastered all over the living room. Luca would recognize him in an instant. Same blue eyes. Same birthmark on the neck.
I swallow hard, and my mouth suddenly dries. I try to keep my expression neutral, my guilt hidden. He steps closer.
“You plan on calling the cops the second I drive off?”
“No! No,” I say quickly, waving my hands. “I wouldn’t—”
