Page 41 of Boy of Ruin
“Lucifer!” Someone’s fingers are around my arms and I flinch, dropping my hands from my ears and shooting them out, knocking into someone solid. Real.
I hear a feminine cry, a gasp of shock.
My eyes snap open and my vision seems to clear. I’m in my room, a light on in the hall, spilling past my doorway.
Illuminating Ophelia.
How did she get here? Why is she at my house? How long have I been home?
I’m breathing hard and I glance over my shoulder, see light streaming in through the blackout curtains of mine and Sid’s room.
What fucking time is it?
“Why are you…” I turn back to O, shaking my head, taking in what she’s wearing. A white, low cut top tucked into her jeans, high-waisted, showing off her thick thighs. Her blond hair is up in a braided bun, tied with a red bandana, matching the lipstick on her mouth. “What are you doing here?”
I run my fingers through my hair and realize I’m not wearing a shirt. I’m in black basketball shorts, bare feet. I take in the rocks glass, the spilled ice. The bottle of vodka tipped over on its side, thankfully capped.
What the fuck?
Glancing at my black nightstand, I see coke residue, and my fingers twitch, wanting to get to it. Dab it up, place it on my tongue.
But O is watching me.
And I still don’t know why the fuck she’s here.
“You called me,” she says quietly, darting her eyes past me.
I turn to see what she’s looking at. Oh. My cell phone, in the middle of the rumpled gray sheets. I don’t remember calling her. When the fuck did I call her?
Why?
Last night…it was late when we got back. Mav drove me here. Told me him and Ella would stay the night if I needed them, but I told him to fuck off. I don’t need him.
I need her.
Then it all comes flooding back to me. The fucking photo. Elijah’s guard. Dead.
Someone is following Sid.
Mav said Elijah and the 6 are going to try to talk to Jeremiah fucking goddamn Rain this morning, but I can’t be there.
My fingers curl into fists and O takes a step toward me, her white sneakers squeaking on my polished floor.
I even hired a housekeeper for Sid. She didn’t want one, told me it was a waste of money, but I insisted. I was gone a lot, odd hours, working for the fucking cult.
She still ran.
She didn’t appreciate shit.
I smell O’s floral perfume as she gets closer, looking up at me through her long lashes. I think they’re fake.
I don’t care.
They look good.
Her green eyes are two big pools of concern and blood rushes to my dick at her nearness.
I waited a year for Sid once.
