Page 73 of Pray for Scars
“You know, more than most of us, howtheyare. If she’s out, they’ll take her, keep her locked in the fucking basement of Sanctum until next Sunday and I’m not risking that. You know better, baby.”
The hairs on the back of my arm stand on end, listening to him talk to her like this. I don’t know where she went that night that the hotel burned down. But she found her way back to him after all.
“I know, J, but they won’t be out tonight anyway. Not at any bar or club we find our way to. They like the weird shit.”
Like Raven Park.
I glance up, to see how it’s working. To see my brother’s face. Brooklin traces a finger down his bare chest, and I can’t look away.
“Come with us. Bring Nicolas, too, if it makes you feel better—”
“You think I needNicolasto protect her?” Jeremiah growls.
Brooklin rolls her eyes, presses her palm flat against my brother’s chest. “No, baby, but, I just mean—”
Jeremiah stands, and Brooklin drops her hand, backing up a few steps. He glances at me, holds my gaze.
Something in his green eyes softens.
“Not tonight,” he finally says, and Brooklin is about to protest when he adds, “tomorrow night, alright? If you two really wanna go wild, tomorrow night. Don’t fucking ask me again.” He turns around and stalks away, through a curtain that serves as a door to the kitchen.
Brooklin beams at me. “Tomorrow night it is.”
* * *
“Don’t,”Brooklin says, sighing and shaking her head. She’s standing in the doorway of my room, her arms crossed. As usual, she looks perfect: tight white jumper that shows off her tan skin, her short hair swept to the side, highlighter that makes her high cheekbones look like she belongs in a magazine (she does). She’s got a beige trench coat on over her jumper, red booties that I would break my neck in.
I glance down at my black jeans and combat boots. “What?” I ask, shrugging as I look back up and meet her eyes.
“You look like a homeless person.”
I frown. “Well, I mean, I kind of am…”
She rolls her eyes, her long lashes fluttering. “Just…just wait here, okay? You’re not leaving in that.” Then she turns away, disappears behind the heavy curtain that separates my temporary room in this warehouse from the hallway that all of our rooms are on.
In minutes, she’s back in my room and I’m picking at my nails. She slaps my hand away from my mouth, shoves something into my arms.
“Try this, okay?”
I reluctantly take what she’s offering: A black leather skirt, a sheer black top. “At least you got the color right,” I mutter, holding the outfit at arm’s length like it might bite me.
“Try it,” she urges me, bouncing on her heels. “Just try it, and if you hate it—which you won’t—I’ll let you go in your homeless clothes.”
I shoot her a glare, but shrug. Why the fuck not? “Um, are you gonna give me some privacy?” I mean, I don’t really give a damn who sees me naked, but I know she’s gonna flip when I put this on to make sure Idowear it, and I’d rather make up my own mind without her interference.
“Nope.” She tilts her head, watching me.
“Whatever.”
I kick off my combat boots, shrug out of my jeans and my plain black t-shirt. I pull on the sheer, tight black top and she laughs. Her and Natalie would probably be good friends if they weren’t on opposite sides of the Unsaint/Rain war.
“What?” I ask, feeling my cheeks heat as I look up at her. I know how to dress sexy for men. I did it for a living. It’s why I don’t anymore. And now I’m out of practice.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” she says, and I’m about to say something snarky back when she adds, “It’s hot.”
I raise my brow. “Alright? Thanks, I guess.” I slip on the leather mini skirt, zip it up in the back, over my shirt.
And then I lace back up my combat boots, which Brooklin groans at, but she’s not getting me into any of her pointy shoes.
