Page 82 of Severed Rivalry
“Née?Breaking Badwas a show where a science teacher made and sold drugs.”
Her gaze whips to mine. “Oh. You think Mr. Rogers was selling drugs?”
His last name is Rogers. My whole world wants to crumble.
“I think your science teacher was making them, yes. I don’t know about selling and I’ve never heard anyone use the TV show’s name as a verb, but an educated guess would be that’s what people mean.” I pause, really, really not wanting any more bullshit reality today. “Did he ever offer you anything?”
She shrugs. “I dunno.”
My life is a soap opera but the Russian kind if such things exist. I can only imagine they’re more dramatic than their American counterparts.
I’m letting it go. For now, anyway… “Sounds like a crazy day at school.” I drop the spaghetti in the boiling water and let my brain spin out where no one can see.
“I guess.”
“Did you get your homework finished?”
“All but history. It’s so boring.”
The evening continues just like this. Typical teenage talk when eye rolls and shrugs won’t suffice. Rosie heads home after dinner with her kilted hero. And I wait for the house to go quiet, so I can grab my phone to decipher how to reverseengineer the damn app.
Liam is right. I won’t let the others drown just to save Renée first. I would save her first, but I can save them all with one fell swoop.
I won’t have another mama worrying about it if I can help it.
24
defiled
Cian
“His name is Mr. Rogers?” Disbelief colors my question.
“Seth Rogers. But yeah. If I ever cross his path, I swear?—”
“You will call me, and I will handle it. You’re stunning, Angel, but I just got you back and I won’t have you doing twenty to life in an orange jumpsuit. I want more than conjugal visits.”
“You’re always such a flirt.”
“Was it the term ‘conjugal visits’ that did it for you? I can add it to my repertoire.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that was it.” Her quiet laugh through the phone goes straight to my dick. “How are you feeling? And what was the grape thing about?”
“Picture a grape between fingers squished until it explodes. It’s kind of like that—the pressure, not the pain. They say seventy-two hours and then it’ll be a dull headache.”
“That sounds terrible too.”
“You didn’t see me before.” I start to scrub a hand down my face, but think better of it since my face exists where it shouldn’t.
“You were pretty banged up today. Still handsome though.”
“Eh… If the black and blue does it for you, we’re going to have problems.” Before she can respond, I add, “Did Mom say anything weird to you while she was here?
“Not that I heard.” She lowers her voice to say, “She doesn’t seem well, Cian.”
I tell her about Mom’s condition and the medical trials that she finessed her way into.
“Yeah, but it’s not that. Or I guess it could be. But I don’t know.”
