Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
“Nothing.”
I hold his eyes. The opposite to mine, yet so similar. “I hate you all. Something clearly fucking happened!”
They continue to ignore me.
“We’re not talking about me right now, Halo…” Glass clatters together as he fumbles around the bar. I still haven’t turned to face him, mainly because I don’t think I have the restraint not to kill him. Finish the job of whoever clearly failed. Betrayal is a wound that most girls cannot forget, it cuts deeper than love itself. That’s why it lingers in our blood as a reminder to us that men like War exist, and why at the end of the day, they’ll only ever be some guy you thought you loved.
“Mmm, good point…” Priest’s dark brow lifts to a perfect arch.
I rest my body against one of the columns, folding my arms in front of myself. “Spit it out.” It could be anything. It could be the video, or the fact that I disappeared in the middle of a war on Perdita, leaving them with nothing but Katsia, and my phone. I think it worries me most that they’re not questioning that more.
My heart burns in my chest.
My fingers play with my earlobe, running circles around the soft skin.
I catch War watching my movements behind his glass as his head bends slightly to swallow. The longer we stay locked in this silent conversation, the deeper my stomach sinks. I want them to ask. But the fact that they’re not is a red flag.
Heat travels down my neck as my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. The fireplace rages against the wall, rolling off gentle reminders of what happens to me every time he and I are in the same room. Being around him is like finally completing a five-thousand-piece puzzle, only to find out a piece is missing because he didn’t give it to you.
“Sorry I’m late!” Her voice is starting to feel a lot like being waterboarded by acid.
I don’t bother to break eye contact, since I know who it is. Did he think her covering for me was an invitation to family dinner? Or was this part of them not asking me where I went. Did they believe whatever story Katsia gave them about Deacon?
I doubt it.
The glass slowly lowers, revealing his smirk. He doesn’t bother hiding the cynicism in his response of Katsia entering. If I’m hostile, he’ll love it too much. It’ll show my hand. Not that it’s been much of a secret how I feel about her recently.
My eyes almost roll off him as I push myself off the pillar and make my way down the steps. I don’t stop walking until I’m in the kitchen. It isn’t the kitchen that the chef works in. This is the one Mom shows to pretend she cooks. The chef has his own commercial-size kitchen in the west wing. Closer to the dining cube.
Sucking in a deep breath, my fingers flex in my palm to try to calm my raging emotions. They’re doing this on purpose. He’s doing this on purpose. He brought her here to agitate me. They know I’m hiding something and they’re trying to pull it out of me by their torment.
“Are we fighting someone?”
And just like that, my anxiety releases.
The smile that spreads over my face is wide enough to split my skin open when I turn to find Aunty Tillie leaning against the long marble counter. Over the years, she’s kept her pink hair. I love it. “Yes. Please.”
She laughs, rounding the counter and going straight for the cabinet. “I know your mom keeps all her good shit up here.” She’s up on her tippy-toes, before finally lowering back down while holding a metal tin.
“I don’t know why I thought you meant alcohol.”
She slides up onto the counter opposite me, popping open the lid. “You know, when I was your age, we were snorting cocaine off each other’s titties. Thank God you guys know better.”
“Mmhmm…” My lips roll beneath my teeth to stop myself from laughing. “No, yeah, sure…” Some of us just snort them off corpses now.
The corner of her mouth twitches. I know what she’s thinking. “Talk to me.”
Her fingers work the bud of flower as she pulls it apart, crumbling it onto the blunt paper. “If we’re fighting someone, make sure she has a momma.”
“Oh, she does.” My feet dangle over the edge. We’ve been told stories of our parents’ days, but not too much detail. I think they’d probably leave shit out even if they did try to tell us what they’d been through, but I know. I know Nate was a menace in his young days. Dad used to say that War is kind of like him, but more like Dad. More controlled. Whatever the hell that means.
She places it between her lips. “Yup. Still got it.”