Page 61 of Bitter Truths

“Jesus, what are you thinking?” he asks softly.

Militantly, I cross my arms and hope I’m not making a huge mistake by trusting my asshat brother. “Payback.”

He raises his brows. “Okay.”

“Just like that?” I’m surprised by Max’s ready agreement and frankly a little skeptical, but I’m fucking desperate, and I can’t exactly ask Griffin.

“Well, somebody posted a filthy video of my sister on the internet. I’d like to kick some ass—”

“Ass kicking is out, and Griffin already got in trouble for that,” I mutter.

“Oh. Well, I mean, there’s another way.”

“What?” I ask, ignoring the voice telling me to step back and instead embracing the exhilaration flying through my veins like crack.

This is what I need. I guess revenge really is the best medicine.

Part Two

Chapter Seventeen

GRIFFIN—TEN YEARS AGO

Stifling a sob because Mother doesn’t like it when I cry, I press my back against the cool wall and wrap my arms around my knees. It’s dark. Cold. A faint shuffling sound brings my head around, but I can’t see a thing.

I try to remember how long I’ve been here, but time is meaningless when I can’t see my fingers in front of my face.

My stomach aches, but it’s not the gnawing hunger it could be. My throat is dry, and I swallow to drum up some spit.

I tried to be quiet, but my new shoes couldn’t be stopped, and I made one wrong step, ending in a loud squeak that made me freeze. I should have taken them off at the door. I knew better, but I guess I just forgot.

I rub my chilled legs with a sigh, looking up when the door opens and Mother appears. She clicks on the light, the switch just beyond the door. Her long hair is wild around her face, and my cheeks burn when I spy her nightgown, the thin material showcasing the shadows of her chest.

Looking away, I squirm, focusing on the stone floor.

I’m stuck. I can’t move. My heart is in my throat, and I can’t swallow past the lump.

When I can’t take the silence any longer, I look into her narrowed eyes, the pretty blue hue blotted by her sickness.

“Griffin,” she says, and I flinch.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“What have I told you about being quiet?”

“Um, when you’re sleeping, I should stay away.”

“And did you, Griffin? Did youstay away?”

The shrill tone raises the hair on my neck, and I shake my head, shifting uneasily. “No, Mother.”

There’s an extended pause, the kind that always creates a knot in my stomach.

She smiles, the stretch of her lips unnatural, and my mouth quivers. “Do you know what I should have done when you were born, Griffin?”

“N-no.”

“I should have taken that blue baby pillow your grandmother sent, the one you refuse to get rid of?”

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