Page 33 of Made in Malice

“How could that be surprising?” I shove out the door, not really expecting a response from him, but he continues to trail behind me.

“Most girls don’t care how he treats them.”

“Despite what he would have everyone believe, I’m not desperate for anything, let alone his attention. I would rather he forget I exist.”

That stops Derry in is tracks, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m heading to the parking lot and not showing any signs of slowing because I parked in the boonies, but he’s no longer keeping pace with me, which is just as well. The disdain I heard when he said Morningstar’s name is enough to let me know he doesn’t like the bully any more than I do, but I’m not one to ally with the enemy of my enemy just because.

As the warm breeze lifts my hair and cools my sun warmed skin, I allow myself to entertain the idea of cutting my losses and disappearing from the island and all the drama that comes with it, but it feels like cowardice, like I’d be letting them push me away from opportunities I wouldn’t otherwise have without this place and the school, and I can’t let it happen.

As I slip into the plush leather seat behind the steering wheel of my new car, I acknowledge that pride may be inherited. That, or I’m already letting this place influence me, because I don’t want to give any of it up, which is terrifying.

LUCIAN

Getting her schedule from one of the girls who works in the office was easy. A simple demand was all it took, because she knew I wasn’t asking. She would have handed over anything with a smile, but that schedule leaves me wondering what the fuck is taking Umbra so long to find me standing next to the car her supposed family bought her.

I don’t know why that pisses me off, but for some reason, it does, though everything about her bothers me. I’m tempted to etch my name in the black paint, but movement at the door finally pulls my attention away.

I push off the car when I realize she’s not alone. Derry, the carrot-topped Quade motherfucker, is at her side, standing a little too close. He should fucking know better. I already put word out that the new Umbra bitch is off-limits, and that includes the other founding families. He can have her when I’m done with her for his scheming and plotting bullshit…if I decide to let him.

Derry’s head lifts as if he can sense me eyeing him, and he keeps his loafered feet planted on the sidewalk instead of following her farther to her car, but it doesn’t matter, because he already fucked up.

Once she realizes he’s no longer chasing her, she shakes her head from left to right, sending her long hair spilling all the fuck over, then she struts through the parking lot like she owns the damn place, even in her ripped Vans and faded shirt. Another spike of something hot and covetous has me clenching my fists. It pisses me off that I want her for anything other than to use her against the Umbras.

I slip between the cars before she can see me with a new target in mind. Apparently, Derry needs a reminder of who runs Cadieux, and it sure the fuck isn’t a Quade.

NOVA

The rest of the week is slow and filled with tension at school and at home. I’m no closer to getting to know my grandparents or finding out anything about my mom and why she left home than when I arrived. I haven’t seen Rory or Astrid much. It seems my first few days of denying dinner with them set the tone, because no one has asked me to join them in the last couple of days. I eat from the buffet that’s laid out in the morning, and there’s always a silver domed plate left near my door for dinner.

Strangely enough, it’s lonelier than when I lived alone. Sometimes, I feel like a ghost walking around the house because it feels so empty. Even arguing with Alden seems fun at this point, but it’s Saturday and I have my first shift at Hooker’s bar and grill. Unfortunately, I feel obligated to tell Rory, so that’s why I’m searching the house for him at seven o’clock to no avail.

Finally, I head into the kitchen. There’s always staff in there, so if this doesn’t work, I’m going to have to call him, and for some reason, I don’t want to do that. It feels weird since I think we’re technically in the same house.

“May I help you, Miss Devlin?” I startle a little at the voice that comes from behind me.

Bridget gives me a weird smile like she knows she scared me and feels bad for it, but something about it feels fake.

“I was looking for Rory,” I answer, then shift to the side so she can join me in the kitchen from the hall.

“It’s Saturday. He and Mrs. Umbra are out.” She delivers the information like it’s something I should have already known.

“Oh, okay.” That makes things easy for me. I don’t stick around after. My Hooker’s T-shirt is already tucked into my bag as I head out to my car. Before I start the engine, I shoot off a quick text message to Rory to let him know I’m leaving the island, and then I put my phone on do not disturb just in case he decides to ask where I’m going so I’ll have a good reason not to answer. I just need to make sure I don’t look at the screen to see any notifications.

Since it’s pretty early for the bar crowd, I’m able to find a spot in the back of the bar’s parking lot. I’m a little leery to leave Mabel, my newly named pride and joy, parked here, but I think parking on the street might be worse.

I pull open my bag and slip the T-shirt over my head, then tug my long hair out of the collar. It’s hard to ignore the words scrawled across the front of the shirt, especially after the encounter with Morningstar in the union. I never would have made the association if it weren’t for him and his insistence about me being a sex worker, but now when I look at it, I think of him, which pisses me off. The jerk takes up enough space in my head without the added distraction.

I lock up my SUV, then head into the bar. There’s a pretty girl near the door wiping down menus, and she looks up as I enter. “Hey.” Her smile is easy as her eyes stray down to see my shirt that matches the one she’s wearing. “You must be the new hire. I’m Amanda.”

“Nova,” I reply. “Is there a place I can put my bag?”

“Sure.” She leaves the menus on the hostess stand, and I follow her through the tables, past the bar, and to a door that reads, “Staff Only.”

“You can use one of the open lockers. Do you have a lock?” She eyes me.

“No, I didn’t think to bring one.” I probably should have, but in my defense, I’ve had a lot going on recently.

“I don’t mind sharing mine,” she offers kindly. “But you’d probably be fine anyway. We’ve never had a problem before, and nobody really messes with Jimmy.”

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