Page 136 of Boy of Ruin
I’m not screaming anymore, but my lungs are burning, and my eyes are blurred, my shoulders still shaking.
And Lucifer’s hands are over my belly, over my T-shirt as he holds me tighter, and I close my eyes to cry, hands over my face. I tell him what I was thinking. I tell him he was never my flinch. Always my nightmare.
He ignores me. Holds me tighter, as if he can squeeze those words away.
“I love you, baby girl,” he whispers in my ear. “I love you so fucking much.” And as I let the tears fall, let myself be weak in his arms, I realize I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a beautiful, beautiful lie.
“She’s gonna run again.” I inhale from my cigarette, looking up at the night sky. No moon, no stars. Fucking darkness.
It’s haunting.
Beautiful.
I snap the cigarette in half, drop it to the pavement, grind it out with my shoe.
“No, she’s not. A guard is at the front door. The back fucking door. Ella is there—”
I laugh, cold and low as I turn my gaze to Mav. “It’s like you don’t know her at all.” I turn to face Ezra as I lean against my car, folding my arms over my chest. Ezra is across from me, Atlas’s Range at his back, Atlas and Cain already inside of Sanctum for Council.
It’s taking me a little longer to cool down enough to go in there without fucking murdering all of them.
Maddox Astor is in the meeting room.
The idea of stringing his intestines across those sconces and inhaling the scent of his burning flesh is a little hard to resist right now.
“You think someone really took your mom?” I ask Ezra, jerking my chin toward him.
His dark hazel eyes are locked on mine, a scowl on his face. He runs his tongue over his teeth, glances past me, at the expansive lawn of Sanctum. Shifting on his feet, he slides his hands into the pockets of his gray joggers. He’s sober, and I guess Brooklin Astor has a golden fucking pussy keeping him that way.
Then again, Jeremiah’s dick was in that shit. Probably not so golden.
My stomach aches, thinking of who else Jeremiah put his dick in.
“She’s not your wife,” Ezra says, gaze coming back to mine, his low voice cold. “She didn’t run.”
I arch a brow, my pulse picking up speed, my nose running, but I don’t bother doing shit about it. The coke is still bitter in the back of my throat, and Mav already busted my balls about that shit when I got out of the car and apparently, he knew I’d railed a few lines.
I couldn’t sleep last night or the night before.
It’s been two days since Lilith broke down in my arms, crying for Jeremiah fucking Rain, and I haven’t seen her since. Mav kicked me out when we started screaming at each other.
Ophelia went home the night Lilith came over. I’d wanted to fuck the shit out of her, to get the image of those bruises around my wife’s throat out of my head, but I couldn’t. Not because I wasn’t hard. Not because I didn’t want to.
Because the hallucinations were worse that night.
The eight ball and the vodka probably didn’t help. Probably why I woke up to my curtains ripped from the rods.
Whatever.
My life is a fucking shit show.
Why fix it now?
Besides, soon enough, Lilith is coming up to the house in the woods for Ignis. Since she likes the mountains so goddamn much, this should be fucking fun.
“Then where the fuck is she? Who would want her, to kill your dad’s guard, and murder one of Jeremiah goddamn Rain’s dancers?” I challenge Ezra, stepping closer to him, my face inches from his.
“And don’t forget the kitten,” Mav adds. I swing my gaze to him. He shrugs. “It’s important.”
