Page 82 of Dangerous Deviance
Arms tightened around me. I don’t know how long Wil had been holding me, but I held her skull against my chest, afraid it might disappear too, then I loosened, afraid I might crush what was left. I buried my head into Wil’s arms and cried so hard that I couldn’t breathe. Snot in my nose. The unbearable ache in my chest. Wil held me close, and his touch was safe and suffocating at the same time.
I turned, gawking up at him, my mouth hanging open since it was the only way I could breathe. I pushed his arms away. He scooted back, still crouching on the ground too. Tiny pieces of her flesh crumbled off as I picked up her bones, gathering her in my arms.
“Help me,” I managed. He didn’t move, so I repeated myself, my voice louder, and my tone harsher than before. “Help me carry her. She deserves more than this.”
In silence, I gathered up what I could, and when I turned to scowl at him for not helping, he came forward, picking up the pieces I couldn’t carry. Wil hit a button on his car fob to open the trunk, but I opened the door to the back of his car, placing her on the seat. She wasn’t a piece of cargo. She was a person.
She was a person.
A small piece of her bone fit in my palm, and I carried it with me, clutched in my hand, sitting in the front seat with me. Dark streaks of dirt and purple flesh covered my shirt. Wil glanced at me, then dusted his clothes off before getting in the car. Pieces of my sister fell to the ground.
Because this was nothing to him. They might not have killed her, but death was always around the Adlers. It meant nothing to Wil.
“What the hell is your problem?” I asked as he slipped into the driver’s seat. He didn’t look at me, refusing to make eye contact.
“What?”
He was so cold. So damn emotionless. Holding me one minute, knowing how messed up this was for me. Then not even looking at me the next.
It was easier to blame him. To think that this was his fault. His fault that I had been too late. Because maybe if the Adlers hadn’t been a problem, if the Midnight Miles Corporation had different enemies, maybe Julie would have survived. Maybe I would have gone in her place.
And then it would be my bones. Not hers.
“You’re just like them, you know,” I said.
“Like who?” he asked, his tone dry.
“The Midnight Miles Corporation, that company that owns the Skyline Shift. You’re just as fucked up as they are.”
Wil started the car engine, and he sped off onto the road so fast that Julie rattled on the back seat, her bones thudding against the cushions. I stuck out a hand, holding them back, making sure that none of them fell off the seat.
“Slow down,” I said. “You’re going to break her.”
“Why didn’t you buckle her in, then,” he sighed, the sarcasm so damn irritating in his voice.
“Fuck you,” I said.
He kept driving. Thirty miles over the speed limit. Then forty. I shook my head.
“You don’t care about anything, do you?” I asked. “It doesn’t matter if someone like Julie dies, because it doesn’t affect you or your family’s business. That’s all you care about. The bottom line. What makes your family money. Who cares if the rest of us suffer?”
His hands tightened around the wheel, and his lips pressed together, but he didn’t deny it. That was the worst part. I wanted so badly for him to tell me that I was wrong. That I was so damn wrong. That the Adler family had a code. That he was better than that. Better than I could imagine. But he didn’t say a word.
So I pressed further.
“Fuck, Wil. You used me. A person, just like Julie, as a fucking birthday present. Your personal toy. And you think you’re so much better thanthem?” I hissed. “You’re not. You’re just as bad as Bates.” The car hummed faster, but I kept going. “You’re just as bad as Muro. You’re just like them.”
He ran the car off the road, slamming on the brakes. Everything flew to a stop, and a few of her bones fell to the ground.
“What the hell, Wil?”
“Muro, Bates—” he started, staring at me, his face red, his breath panting, “They didn’t care if you lived or died. They didn’t care about your sister.”
As if to imply that he did.
But I knew better.
“Neither do you,” I muttered.
