Page 66 of Pray for Scars
But what the fuck would Ria know about that? Sure, the 6 probably does have a sex trafficking ring. They probably do fuck around with pedophiles. They’re sick and twisted, just like their fucked-up kids. But how the fuck would Ria know we aren’t related?
I grew up with him. We didn’t have long together, but he’s in my earliest, darkest memories.
And yet…he still wants to fuck me. His own sister.
“You are thesomething worse, Jeremiah,” I whisper against his ear. “Can you save me from yourself?”
Chapter Sixteen
Nearly a week passes.
No one comes for me.
Saturday morning comes too early, with a knock on my guest room door.
Jeremiah hasn’t been staying here at night, although he comes before the sun rises in the morning and leaves after I head to my room at night. And I know it’s him, now, disturbing my sleep. Especially as he twists the locked doorknob, then slams his fist against the door. Nothing has changed between us in the two weeks we were apart. I’ve slipped back into my role, and he’s taken control of his.
“Sid,”he snarls, a low warning.
Fuck.
I sling the covers off, pad across the carpet in bare feet, unlock the door, and yank it open.
He glares down at me, taking in my white t-shirt, black shorts. I lean against the doorway, folding my arms.
“What the fuck do you want?”
He’s dressed in a dark blazer, white shirt underneath, his own hands in fists by his sides, black watch visible on one wrist. He smells good, although I’d never tell him that, and he’s freshly shaven.
We haven’t done much in the week I’ve been here. Him and Nicolas have talked in hushed voices about the ruined hotel, what to do with it, if someone took the bodies—I haven’t asked—and they’ve left the apartment a few times together, on errands.
I haven’t gone back to class, haven’t wanted to see Ria since my brother held her up at gunpoint. I’ve spent my time running, reading, writing, burning what I write over the sink in Nicolas’s apartment, and drinking far, far too much.
I don’t know what comes next.
I don’t know why Lucifer hasn’t come for me.
I don’t know why I want him to, knowing what I do about his father. Knowing he betrayed me. Knowing he would’ve left me to his dad to kill me if Jeremiah hadn’t saved me.
“I want you to watch your mouth,” Jeremiah says softly to my question.
I roll my eyes. “No, really. What thefuckdo you want?”
“We’re leaving.”
I arch a brow. “What do you meanwe? And to where?”
He slides his hands into his pockets. “We as in me, you, and Nicolas. And where, as in none of your fucking business,” he smiles, “but you’ll see.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You don’t get to say ‘No’.”
My skin crawls. I’ve heard those words from my brother’s cruel mouth many, many times before. It usually ends with me doing whatever I tried to sayNoto.
“Why?”
“Why do you not get to say ‘No’, or why—”
