Page 19 of Tears and Other Fears

“Look. You want money? I’ll pay you what I think your brother’s life was worth, okay?” Mr. Smith replied. “I know your stepfather, you know. Liam? We’re good friends,” he added while pulling out his checkbook. “We both attended Blackwood together. We learned a lot of things together. What battles to pick. The importance of discretion and how a reputation was worth far more than money. We also learned about the value of life.”

He finished writing, then tore off the check. “It’s because I respect him that I’m giving this to you. Heed my warning. If you accuse my son of anything, I’ll sue the ever-living shit out of you. If you create problems for my family? I’ll have you sent back to that hospital. If you step out of line? I’ll end you.” He tossed the check at me, but I let it float to the floor. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

I didn’t look down. I didn’t have to. I knew it was worthless.

I stood there in silence. No tears staining my cheeks. No pain filling my chest. Empty. Empty. Empty. Nothing. Nothingness. The absence of feeling or grief. Or terror and agony.

I was stone, baby. Motherfucking stone.

And then I acted. Without assessing the amount, I bent over and picked up the check before walking up to Mr. Smith. I reached behind my neck to pull the pin holding my halter dress together, forcing the material to fall and revealing a healthy portion of my breasts. As expected, Mr. Smith stood momentarily stunned, as if not sure whether to think I’m crazy or to reach out to grab the useless balls of fat engorged on my chest. “Mr. Smith,” I began before reaching up to palm his chest, plastering the check against his jacket. The entire room was silent. “I might not have attended Blackwood, but it’s taught me something, too,” I rasped.

“Oh?” The motherfucker was growing hard.

“Yes. I learned that you should always keep an eye out for unknown variables. You should always fear those that are unpredictable—or crazy.” I lifted the sharp pin and pressed it through the paper, through his clothes, and dug it into his skin. He tried to move away, but I didn’t let him. I pressed even harder, knowing that if he jerked away, it would hurt more. “Keep your money, Mr. Smith. I prefer to be paid in blood.”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” he gritted before wrapping his meaty hands around my wrist. I then pulled it out, using the sharp tool coated in his blood to readjust my dress.

“Come on, boy,” Mr. Smith finally said to Samuel as he rubbed at his chest. I was sad that the dark color of his suit hid the blood pooling there. Mr. Smith left the room, and Samuel pulled himself off the floor to follow after his father, not sparing me a glance. Renon was staring at the check in his hand as I thought about priorities.

I once heard that what we choose to neglect eventually dies. It’s why priorities were so pivotal to how we approached life. If William were a plant, he’d have dry soil and wilted roots. The Smiths showed what their priorities were, but I still clung to mine.

And I wouldn’t rest until their blood was nurturing the seeds of my brother’s memory.

“Fuck, Octavia,” Renon said once the room was cleared. “You really are crazy. But I guess crazy works, because I got my money.” He then eyed the check greedily.

“Crazy? You have no fucking idea.”

Chapter 11

I staredat the open door in Samuel Smith’s bedroom for longer than what was appropriate. I felt like an immovable statue, like cold stone growing through the floorboards of his house. Someone was talking to me, but the roaring in my mind couldn’t be bothered to comprehend the words. There were only a couple of times that I could remember feeling this much anguish.

The night that William died. The morning Mrs. Mulberry passed peacefully. And the day Noah deceived me. It seemed like every bad thing in my life was a tumbleweed from William’s chest. When he died, it set the chain reactions that led me right here to this moment.

Mr. Smith wanted me to leave his house, but I felt rooted to the spot. I almost wanted him to call the cops on me just so I could have the opportunity to cause a scene. My face moved when the vision of me screaming and flailing as armed men drug me from the Smiths’ beautiful home flickered across my angry mind.

“Octavia,” Renon said somewhere outside the storm raging in my mind. His voice was like thunder, and I was a hurricane, and life was a torrential downpour of disappointments and fucked up people.

“Let’s go,” I said when I felt like I could breathe. It was a slow inhale, and the finality escaped my chest with a boom. There was one variable I hadn’t accounted for: Samuel would never pay because this system of corruption and entitlement would always protect him. I wasn’t believable enough.

“Let’s stay. What is he going to do? Call the cops?” Renon quickly rushed out. I finally tore my eyes from the door to look at him, and relief flooded his expression. I didn’t understand it. So I looked at the door again. “Octavia. I owe you three orgasms.”

“I don’t want them anymore,” I lied. I wanted lots of things. Most of those things could be accomplished with sex. I wanted to scream so loud the walls shook. I wanted to feel something stronger than my grief. I wanted to pound out the frustrations in my head.

I felt his heated body at my back. I felt the bloodied pin release, letting my dress free. I felt the thin fabric fall down, baring my breasts once more. His words sunk under my skin and tattooed my heart. “Let’s have hot, angry hate-sex, Octavia the Vengeful.”

He was tempting me, and the idea that Young could come looking for us at any moment sent my self-destruct function into overdrive. “You couldn’t handle my version of angry, Renon the Drug Dealer.”

“Bet I could.” He gasped while cupping my breasts from behind. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and he took full advantage of that, pulling at my nipples like they were strings on a guitar.

“I’m warning you,” I began while rolling my neck. He lifted his hand to brush my strawberry blond hair back, then sunk his teeth into my soft skin. “Once you have a taste, you’ll want more. I’ll hurt you. Make you bleed. And you’ll get hooked on something far worse than the drugs you push.”

He spun me around and grabbed my ass, his hard fingers digging so far into the thick muscle that I almost—almost—winced. “I’m in the business of temptation, Octavia. I think I can handle it.”

I smiled, then shoved at his chest so hard he fell to the ground with a loud thud. I was sure the people below us could hear. The lamp on Samuel’s nightstand shook. He gasped at me for a moment as I bent over to brush a spec of lint off my stiletto. I straightened, and his eyes traveled the long lines of my legs, like an artist planning the strokes for a blank canvas. I had a feeling that I’d be bruised and blood red by the time we were through with one another.

After stepping closer to Renon, I sunk my heel into his chest, pressing hard enough to inflict pain. It was always about the pain. His heaving breaths became labored as I leaned forward, pushing him into a lying position. His eyes were hooded and hot. Heat licked my inner thighs as I twisted my foot. “I’m going to make you scream, Octavia. Everyone in that damn party is going to know what we’re doing up here. They’re going to know my name because you’ll be belting it over and over.”

Silly boy. Didn’t he know? I removed my foot, then straddled his body, bending over at the hips to trail my fingers up and down his torso. “My whole life has been a scream, Renon. Do something original—make me whisper.”

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