Page 12 of Iris' Lying Eyes

You think he can protect you? Think again. I’m the monster that lurks in the corner of your vision, Pam. I’m the man who enjoys bathing in other sinner’s blood. I take no prisoners. If I can’t have you, well, no one can.

You can die. But Iris, sweet Iris, she’s fucking mine, Pam. You understand? You played this all fucking wrong. Brace yourself. I’m coming home.

Only fifteen days, eleven hours, two minutes, and five seconds to go.

He was all lovey-dovey up until the end. What changed?

The letter is dated a year ago, right around the time this whole fucking charade blew up in our faces. Is this why she died?

I may never know. She’s not here to tell me.

But what do I do with the information now that it’s too late? Did John know? Did he send her into McCafferty’s house to die—over this?

The fucker.

“Some people deserve to die,” I murmur.

“Do they?”

“Rain?” I gasp.

She cocks her head to the side, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulder. She looks good. Better than the last time I saw her, which isn’t saying much because she was frantic over her mom and brother missing at the hands of John.

But I see the spirit’s back in her eyes even as she smiles awkwardly and says, “You look better.”

Bowing my head, I smooth my hand down my dress, taken from my closet this morning. It was weird to don clothes from before but also oddly liberating without John standing over me with a scowl.

“Oh?” I mumble. We both know she’s lying. I look like shit. Even now, my hands are shaking and I’ve been avoiding the specter of begging for blow for hours.

How much longer can I last?

“Yeah,” she says, dropping to the couch.

I collapse beside her and wave my hand with a grimace when a plume of dust explodes in the air between us.

My nose twitches and I sneeze and sneeze again, muttering, “Fucking-A.”

“Sorry,” she rasps, and I meet her twinkling stare. I can’t suppress my giggle, and her eyes go wide before she follows.

This is how Cyn finds us when he appears at the door with a frown. He’s not my biggest fan. He’s not a fan at all, so I quickly sober up.

Gasping out a last chuckle, Rain wipes her eyes and says, “You said fifteen minutes.”

“I lied,” he says. She raises her brows, but he ignores her, saving his flinty stare for me.

“Well?” He demands.

“Well, what?” I ask, raising my hands. You’d think I ignored a conversation, but the dick just got here.

“What are you doing here?”

“This is my house,” I say, and his eyes roll to the ceiling.

“Funny. Where’s John? What’s your game this time, Iris?”

I deserve his skepticism and more, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to take it lying down.

“Fuck you. Why areyouhere?”

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