Page 44 of These Monstrous Ties
What’s a little more to add to the body count?
I count to three in my mind, but Jeremiah still hasn’t pulled the trigger.
“Don’t pussy out now,” I hiss at him.
He laughs.
And then he fires.
The shot rings out in the foyer, my ears ringing, and I jump, startled, but otherwise, I force myself not to move. I’m still staring at him. We share blood. He just shot at me.
But he’d aimed high.
Nicolas is staring above my head. Kristof has gone pale.
I step away from the wall and look up at the cream-colored paint. A bullet hole is lodged in the wall, a foot above my head.
He left a lot of room.
I twist my head back to look at him. He lowers the gun, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look pleased. Or arrogant. He doesn’t even look angry anymore.
He looks disappointed. And I feel pretty damn sure he’s disappointed with himself for not being able to do it. I close the space between us, my boots echoing on the marble floor. When we are nearly nose-to-nose, or as close as we will ever be considering our height difference, I stop.
I lean in close to him, whisper the words against his neck. “Next time, don’t miss.” And then I walk away, enjoying the silence that follows me.
* * *
I should go to bed.
But I can’t. I’m exhausted, but my mind is running a million miles a minute. I’m proud of myself for barely flinching. Proud I didn’t try to stop him. That I hadn’t moved. I’m still genuinely shocked he had purposefully missed me.
But that isn’t what I’m thinking about when I sit on my balcony, the sliding door open at my back. I have my legs stretched out, draped over a black iron chair across from me, identical to the one I’m sitting on.
I had downed a rum and Diet from the minifridge in my room, and I should have had more than one, but I don’t have the energy to pour another. Instead, I’d set the glass on the nightstand and walked out here in my pajamas; an oversized shirt and black cotton shorts.
The night is cooler than it was when I was in Raven Park. I gaze out at the lights down below in the city, Alexandria powering through in the middle of the night. The university is there. Someone my age is having their first legal drink down there. Someone is getting fucked for the first time. Someone is having their heart ripped in two, probably not for the last time. Someone is dying.
I feel nothing.
I’m numb as I watch the city.
I lean back in my chair, wrap my arms around myself, and close my eyes. I didn’t bother to bring a knife out here. If someone comes for me, well, for all I care, they can fucking have me.
But when I close my eyes, it’s no one in the hotel I see. No one here I think about, even though I’m certain most everyone under this enormous roof wants me dead.
No.
It’shismidnight blue eyes that flash in my mind. Pale, smooth skin. A dimple in one cheek. A sharp jawline.
My eyes fly open, and instinctively, they fall on the silver scar on my thigh. Three inches wide, pearly white. I run a finger over it, but the edges are smooth. I wish they weren’t. I want to feel the jaggedness of that knife.
I want to feel some physical representation of what Lucifer did to my heart. And now he’s playing with me. He’s waiting for me. Does he know Jeremiah wants me to kill him? Did he burn down Brooklin’s house as a message from all of the Unsaints, to tell my brother they’re coming for him? Or for me?
And why?
The betrayal?
My brother refuses to talk to me about the Unsaints. About Lover’s Death. About the Death Oath. About what exactly he saw that night.
