Page 203 of Chaos Kills

“Zero.” My mother’s hazel eyes bounce up to mine, and I can’t miss the crow’s feet next to her eyes. The time that has passed and the evil that remains inside her and this fucked-up house. “I don’t want any fucking tea.”

She immediately frowns but quickly rids it when she asks the redhead at her side, a young twenty-something-year-old, who just happened to be here when I arrived with a perfect set of tits in a baby blue dress. The hem a dangerous inch higher than what my mother would deem appropriate for a lady, but Mom must not give a fuck tonight.

“You gonna introduce me to your friend, Ma, and tell me why the hell I’m here, or are we just gonna just hang out?”

This time, Mom doesn’t bother to hide the look of pure infuriation she holds for me and my mouth. “Reeve Stanton, do not speak like that in front of a young woman.” She gestures at her side. “This is my friend’s daughter, Fisher.”

My brows crash into each other. “Did your parents hate you?”

A spoon crashes against the glass teacup Mom just poured, announcing her diminishing patience with me and my attitude. “Reeve…”

“I apologize, Fisher,” I begin, kicking one ankle over my opposite knee. “I’m just highly confused as to why you’re here unless you’re visiting or…”

“Just visiting,” she says, her voice a sliver of sweet and shy. “Your mother was kind enough to invite me over for dinner.”

Mom carefully hands her over the cup of tea she prepared. Her navy-blue suit jacket-skirt ensemble makes her look more aged. Her hair is still upkept with blonde dye and dark roots. She also tries to hide each wrinkle with fuck knows what kinds of products they have these days floating around, but she kinda failed today.

“How thoughtful of her,” I drone. “My mother must keep you around to feel young.”

“I had your favorite made,” Moms says to me.

I’m immediately confused. “My favorite what?”

“Meal,” she deadpans, preparing her cup of tea next.

I scoff, not bothering to hide that she doesn’t know shit all about me. Well, the stuff that matters. “And what’s that?”

“Lasagna.”

My whole jaw bolts down in a tight strain as I stare at the woman who thinks this is all a fucking game.

That I’m a puppet she can still jack around with.

And good ol’ Fisher over here is a marriage prospect—been there, done that.

And, the kicker, lasagna isn’t my favorite meal.

“That was Rosalie’s,” I leer through my teeth, demanding the only sliver of rationality to remain seated, or I’m about to launch this whole coffee table at innocent Fisher and my devious mother.

Mom’s focus comes up to mine. “Was it?”

This bitch.

She does this shit to bring me down mentally. To bend me to her will. To keep fucking with how she doesn’t approve of my sexuality. Every time she nitpicks at something, it’s to control me.

“Yeah.” I flick my sole focal point to poor Fisher who’s never going to come to this fucking house again after the shit I have to say. “I mean, I’m seriously surprised you don’t remember since you literally watched the two of us like a hawk. Especially since you were always trying to force me to fuck my own twin sister all the time.” Fisher’s green eyes widen in unflawed shock the moment my words leave my mouth. “You for the gays, Fish? I’m bisexual, and honestly, Ma can’t stand that I like dick.”

“Reeve, keep your dirty mouth shut,” Mom snaps, boring her ineffective hatred at me. “Stop spreading lies in this house about?—”

“Oh, it’s not lies,” I continue to the oblivious chick in the room. She didn’t know what she’s getting herself into when she decided to accept my mother’s invitation to come here. “I’vefucked my own sister because Mom over here was trying to get the gay out of me. No son of hers?—”

“Enough!” Mom shrills out, half in desperation and the other in sheer rage that I’m spilling our family secrets to a complete stranger who will probably have Snapchatted or Facebook statused this shit by the time she’s out the door.

“Was going to be a homo,” I finish, but then chime in with, “I mean, I think I love dick more than my mom does.”

A loud rattle of glass sounds through the room, and Fisher has already pried her embarrassed stare from me, looking for any excuse to get the hell out of this weird-ass conversation I started.

“You’re such an ungrateful bastard,” Mom barks out, those hazel eyes boring hatred into me. “I’ve done nothing but love you and?—”

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