Page 69 of Boy of Ruin
I drop my hands from Jeremiah’s throat, place one on my belly. The other on the gear shift between us.
My husband is here.
I don’t dare look out my window, but I know now. Where the fuck we are. Julie’s house.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask quietly, refusing to look away from my brother. Letting my pulse settle. My fears.
He’s okay. My husband is okay.
Jeremiah cocks his head, tugs down my bottom lip and bites his tongue, his mouth open as he stares at my own.
Finally, his eyes flick back to mine. “This is the second night,” he says softly. “And he didn’t come up here alone.”
My stomach flips.
I can’t speak.
“Jeremiah—” Nicolas starts, his tone a warning, but Jeremiah cuts him off.
“He drove up here with Ophelia.” Jeremiah digs the knife in a little deeper.
“Is Mayhem here?” I ask, the only thing I can think to say. If he’s here, if Ella is, if it’s not just my husband with two women he’s fucked…
Jeremiah laughs softly. “No.” He seems to enjoy saying that word.
Enjoy the way my heart breaks.
I try again to pull away from him, and this time he lets me.
I turn to look out the window. Blink in the darkness. I still can’t see anything, can’t make shit out, but I know he’s telling the truth about where we are. A long driveway, trees at the end of it, and beyond that…there’s a house with a baby.
A baby, and if my brother is telling the truth, my husband. Ophelia. Julie.
“Why is he here?” I croak out.
No one answers me. I press my palm to the window, shockingly cold against my skin, despite the fact that I know it’s hot outside. But the windows are up, the AC flowing softly through the vents of the Mercedes.
“Why is he here?” I demand again, my voice little more than a snarl. I drop my hand, turn to face my brother and Nicolas. “How do I know you’re fucking telling the truth? How do I know you’re—”
Nicolas sighs as Jeremiah’s eyes narrow.
Nicolas pushes his phone in front of my face, the screen so bright I have to blink to adjust to the light.
But I see it.
It’s dark, and the camera is in night mode, but I see my husband’s fucking car. The BMW M5, black and blacked out, parked behind the fucking house, behind a Jeep. There’s a bicycle too. For a kid.
Just like there was that night.
Leaned against the little shed in the back of the house.
“Lucky for us,” Jeremiah purrs as I stare at my husband’s car, bugs flying in front of the camera, but otherwise, the film is perfect, “they just installed these today. Your husband’s,” J almost chokes on that word, “way of keeping her safe.” He snarls that last word and Nicolas pulls the phone from me, pocketing it.
My chest caves.
I try to reason with myself. I left him. Besides that, maybe something happened. Maybe he’s pissed with the 6. Maybe he’ll actually fucking kill all of them, and in the meantime, he wants to keep Julie and the kid safe.
But Ophelia? Why the fuck is she here?
