Page 23 of Midnight Wedding

“I can keep secrets. It’s what I do, right? I mean, I want to find them out, but then I heard them. I didn’t tell anyone about your money or your guns or even that I was in this place. I won’t tell them about what I saw.”

I want to believe her. I’m so fucking desperate to believe her. The last thing I want right now is to kill this girl. I’d rather pull her against me and taste her pretty lips and lick that nose piercing and make her say my fucking name.

But I’m a bad man and I don’t get to make selfish choices.

This is what I am. Sick, broken, torn to shreds between a dozen warring factions. The Brotherhood’s too tenuous and fractured right now to survive this girl making trouble.

I reach up to touch her. I’ll do it fast. Make it painless. Hell, I can be gentle when I need to be.

But I’m ruthless. My heart’s a stone, or whatever’s left of it.

Her mouth opens to say something else, but then she coughs lightly, and her skin turns even more pale.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, stepping back. “I think I’m about to puke.”

I stop moving toward her. “What?”

“I’ve been getting sick a lot lately. Oh, god, please—” She turns away andruns.

I stare after her for a beat before following. The bathroom door slams and I listen to her vomiting into the toilet and groaning in discomfort.

What the fuck?

I don’t know what to do. She gets sick again, spitting and groaning, and I knock gently.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she croaks and spews a third time.

I head into the kitchen and get her some water. Why the hell am I getting her water? I should shove her head in the toilet and fucking drown her. Instead, I knock softly and open when she doesn’t answer.

She’s sitting with her back to the wall. Sweat beads on her forehead, and she smiles gratefully when I hand her the glass.

“Small sips,” I say. Except why does that matter? I could kill her and be done with it.

“Thanks.” She drinks a bit and seems more embarrassed than unwell. “I’ll be fine now.”

“Has that been happening a lot?”

“Just lately. I think it’s acid reflux. Probably from stress.”

“I guess things with your mother haven’t been easy.”

“Not even a little bit.”

I get up and head back into the kitchen. There are saltines in the cabinet. I bring them back and make her eat a couple. Once she’s feeling better, I steer her to the living room, even though she claims she’s totally fine now.

I get her sitting, put a blanket on her, and make her put her feet up.

She looks small. Her hair’s a tangled mess, and I just listened to her vomit splatter against the water. There’s nothing less sexy than the smell of puke lingering in the air.

I kneel down in front of her and put my hands on her leg.

“Go back home,” I say, but that’s not right.

I should be saying,die, bitch.

“Really?”

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