Page 68 of Pray for Scars
“What is this?” I ask him, looking from Jeremiah to the warehouse. “Your new hotel?”
He rolls his eyes. “Funny.” He doesn’t sound amused.
Nicolas walks up, a black duffel bag on his back. “Brooklin will be here in ten,” he tells Jeremiah.
My hands clench into fists. “She’s cominghere?”I ask my brother. “You actually trust her?”
He smirks, slides his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. “Of course I trust her. She’s mine.”
I ignore the way my heart tightens at those words. I ignore the wave of nausea that passes over me, too, as I realize what I’m feeling.
Jealousy.
I bite my tongue, wondering, not for the first time, what the fuck is wrong with me. I force myself to nod, stuff my hands in my hoodie.
“Right,” I finally say, peering past the open garage door. I see cement floors, couches, partitions that divide the enormous space into what I assume are different rooms. “Well, I’m going to need some clothes and—”
Nicolas laughs. “Beat you to it.”
I arch a brow as I turn to him, his dark eyes on mine. “How do you know what I like?”
This time it’s Jeremiah that laughs, eyeing my black hoodie, jeans and boots. “You’re funny, Sis.” He walks past me, linking his arm through mine as he does, and we head into my brother’s new headquarters. And even though we’re in the middle of nowhere, I know it won’t take long for Lucifer and his gang of rich pricks to find this place. When they do, there’ll be nowhere to run.
Chapter Seventeen
Saturday morning,I wake to the sound of someone fucking pounding on my door. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, glancing at the door across the room. It’s locked, but whoever is on the other side sounds like they might tear the damn thing down, so I throw off my sheets and hop down onto the wood floor, stretching as I head to the door. I unlock it, yank it open, already pissed and the sun has barely risen.
Maverick’s eyes trail down my chest. I sleep in my boxers, which he knows very well.
“You had company?” he asks, raising a brow, trying to be funny. “I thought after Sanctum and Ophelia, you’d be good—”
“What?” I snarl, cutting him off.
“Sid,” he says, and I see his mask slip. That careless one, the one that tries to be like Cain—indifferent—but isn’t.
My hand on the door tightens, knuckles blanching. “What about her?” I make myself ask as my heart pounds in my chest.
Maverick runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that I’m pretty sure is mine, and sweatpants that Iknoware mine. But he’s already fucked my girl—no, I remind myself,notmy girl—so sharing clothes really seems the least of the things I should be feeling possessive about.
“I found her.” He looks up again. “And him.”
I don’t move for a second. I just stare at him, taking in what he just said, feeling sick.
I let go of the door and run a hand through my hair. “Where?” And then, before I can stop myself, “And why the fuck are you looking for her?”
Maverick looks down at his socks, as if he’s actually ashamed, but I know he isn’t because the next second he picks his head up and his eyes lock on mine. “You’re not the only one keeping tabs on her, bro.Vita morteque fratres.”
Brothers in life and in death.
Maverick likes to act like a total douche, but he was an English major, a poet, and a lover of Latin, which comes in handy at 6 ceremonies. He doesn’t ever show us his shit, and his job, like mine, is to take care of the 6 and the Unsaints, but I know for a fact he keeps a journal in his safe at his house.
I just roll my eyes.
Quid pro quo.
He’s not the only one who knows his Latin. I know he’ll want my help later. Probably to get Ria out of this mess he’s put her in, telling her way too damn much.
“Does she know you found her?”
