Page 143 of Boy of Ruin
Lucifer’s eyes dip down to my tummy, and my chest tightens as his face softens, losing some of the hard edge.
He drops his hands, takes a step toward me.
I’m rooted to the spot. I can’t move.
I can’t even fucking…breathe.
“I wouldn’t…” He trails off, swearing under his breath and running his hand over his nose. He drops his hand, meets my gaze again. “Believe it or not, I know how to use a condom. And I did.”
I hate that that makes me feel marginally better.
“But since I got there first,” his eyes dip to my belly again, “I assume he fucking didn’t?”
I laugh out loud at that, shaking my head. “Oh no. You don’t get to do that.” I grind my teeth as his eyes narrow into brilliant blue slits. I see that blue vein in his neck throbbing and, still fucking pissed as hell at him, he has the ability to make me think about fucking his brains out all the same. “You don’t get to do that after you…” My throat closes up, thinking of him with Julie. Ophelia.
I close my eyes. “You didn’t, did you?” I ask him, the words hoarse. I already know the answer, but just like before I ran, I want to forget it. I want to…I just want to forget all of this shit sometimes.
I want to forget I was born wrong.
I was made a gift to grown men wanting to touch little girls.
I want to forget my brother was made a prisoner, to be reborn into a perfect and holy son that no one really wanted for a cult that cares more about having soulless men than it does what it takes to get them that way.
Silence greets my question.
I keep my eyes closed.
“Did you fuck her, Lucifer? Ophelia? How many times?”
“Three,” he answers me, stealing the breath from my lungs, my eyes screwing up tight to keep the tears back. “Twice from behind, so I could think of you as I stared at her ass. And once? Once, I fucked her against the wall, my hand around her throat. You know, your thing, baby girl.”
My stomach drops, my heart cracking in two, even as his words are so venomous, I know he’s trying to hurt me for Jeremiah.
I know, but still, it’s like another reminder. Another reminder that we could never be. That the boy who ran from the fucking dog crate…that’s the boy for me.
I turn away from my husband, finally opening my eyes. “Where is he?” I ask quietly.
Of course he doesn’t answer me because he’s an asshole, but I hear him step closer.
Sense him at my back.
Inhaling, I catch his scent. Nicotine and pine. I became addicted to that scent. He always smoked outside, and never when I was in the car, but sometimes I’d sit out there with him, my arm threaded through his, my head on his shoulder, just to breathe him in.
“Is this really over, Lilith?” he asks me quietly from behind, not touching me, but his presence his palpable. I can feel his body heat through the oversized white shirt I’m wearing. A borrowed one from Ella, like her black leggings.
At his question, I feel cold even in the warm night.
I glance to the door, notice the guard has walked off. As if even he knows this is ending, and he wants to give us our grief.
I think about my bad cards in life.
Lucifer’s.
His stepmom.
I imagine her screams. Her blood. How good it felt to fucking kill her for the man standing at my back right now.
How I wanted to protect him from everything after that. Every hurt, every nightmare. I wanted to be there. But he made it impossible.
