Page 60 of The Piece You Stole

They must have been sitting here all this time, drinking their vodka, blaming me for ruining their fun at the playground as the hours ticked into early morning. They gave me enough dirty looks it was easy to believe they’d done little else all night.

I stand with my back against the wall beside the open-plan kitchen, waiting for anyone to request a top-up from the array of bottles lined up on the kitchen island. At what must be nearly five or even six a.m., my eyelids are heavy after my long night at the police station. Yet, if someone told me to sleep, I wouldn’t be able to.

After the photograph, I don’t think I ever want to close my eyes again.

It still doesn’t make sense that I’m fixating on Nathan like this, but it’s him I see killing Dad over and over. And it’s him I kill in my mind over and over.

I never come close to running out of ways I do it.

In my mind, I stab him with a steak knife, throw him off a tall building, or I shoot him in the head. I have never spent so long envisioning killing someone before, and not once do I feel the slightest bit of guilt for doing so.

Nathan glances over at me, catches me watching, and raises his half-empty glass.

I straighten, pick up the Grey Goose vodka, and move toward him. Along the way, I imagine smashing the bottle on the edge of the table and stabbing him with the broken end.

His lips quirk and amusement flits across his eyes as if he just plucked the thought right out of my mind.

When I reach him, he holds his glass toward me. I unscrew the lid and pour the vodka until he lifts his hand as if to say enough. Instead of throwing the bottle in his face, I stop pouring and spin around. As I walk away, I screw the lid back on, return the bottle to the kitchen island, and go back to leaning against the wall, my eyes fixed on Nathan.

Killing Felix was luck, nothing more and nothing less, but Nathan is Rylan’s hunter. Attacking him head-on won’t get me killed, it will get me punished. Even worse, Nathan would never let his guard down if I didn’t get him the first time.

As the pack makes plans to do some shopping at Louis Vuitton before a run at the playground tonight, I remember the steak knife Nathan tucked in his pocket. He’s still wearing the same suit jacket from before, so he must still have the knife with him. If I can get to it at the playground and find some way to hide it, how could I make sure Nathan was the one who caught me so I could use it?

And then there’s Rylan. What if he’s the one to catch me?

I dart a glance his way. He’s sitting back on the neighboring couch, gripping his cell phone in one hand and aiming a hard stare right at me.

I look away.

Killing Nathan isn’t going to be easy. But Rylan? A cold sweat forms on my nape, and a shiver dances up my spine. Getting away from Rylan was one thing, butkillinghim? There’s no future I envision myself walking away. Not one.

Nathan first, then you can think of Rylan.

Outside the window, the sun arcs higher in the sky. It’s not the same fading blue-black bruise color it was on the drive back to the apartment from the police station. This is a new day, so I shake off my exhaustion because I don’t have time to be tired or weak, not when Nathan has to die.

I watch him sip from his vodka, still chatting away with the others, and occasionally laughing.

You’d never believe he lived to make people suffer. Felix was a little like that, but he had a line he would never cross.

A touch of cruelty, a dash of pain…and the occasional kindness. That was Felix.

Nathan is something else.

A bark of laughter pulls me from my thoughts about Felix. Blinking myself back to the present, my gaze once again clashes with Nathan’s blue orbs. He caught me staring. Again.

Our stare extends as he reclines. The bright morning light pours in through the wall of glass, casting its glow all over him and the others, making them appear as if they’re something more than human. Not Gods. I’ve seen the things they can do.

Nathan raises his squat glass of vodka to me in a toast, as if thanking me for all the attention I’m paying him.

I visualize taking the glass and ramming it down his throat.

His smile stretches even wider.

“Saige!” Rylan’s barked order comes from my right—and far closer to me—than I was expecting. I stumble away, my heart beating a furious tempo in my chest.

Rylan’s eyes flicker from pale blue to silver, the wolf in him branding me with a stare so intense it has me inching back. He snaps his hand out. It locks tight around my wrist hard enough to bruise, and he yanks me back toward him so fast my hair flies up around my face, momentarily blinding me.

All conversation from the couches halts.

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