Page 56 of After Our Kiss

- Chapter Twenty -

Conway

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“This is a farce, and you know it.” Lonnie slammed the scissors down on the table. He'd just finished pulling out the hasty stitches he'd done on himself weeks ago.

Patiently, I moved the box I had away from his bloody threads. “She's doing exactly what Dad wants. That's good enough.”

“It's not good enough! Not one fucking bit! And what's up with those videos, hm? Why haven't you shown them to me by now?”

“The ones I recorded are corrupted,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I'll make new ones once I buy a better camera.” I had no intention of that.

“Dad is going to be pissed,” he said, his anger sliding through. I didn't see Lonnie lose his cool often. “He's seen no solid proof that you're doing anything that he's instructed.”

“Have you heard from him?” I asked, taking out my phone. “Because I haven't, not since I first arrived here with Georgia. For all we know he got shanked in prison and he's dead.”

Lonnie coiled with tension from head to toe. “He's not dead. And she's not fooling anyone. When Dad meets up with us, you know what's going to happen to her? He's going to beat the shit out of her. She can trick you, but not me, and not him. Everyone will be fucked. Including Emily.”

I didn't think—I just grabbed him by the front of his sweater and slammed him against the fridge. Breathing in great heaves through my nose, I said, “Don't talk about her. Not when you're not responsible for her life.”

His eyes trembled in their sockets, yet he smiled. “But I am. I'm very responsible. Dad said I'm the Watcher. I'm watching to make sure you make Georgia perfect for him. But you're not, so I can't stay quiet about it.” He leaned close to me. His newly healed scar shined. “If you don't crush her actual fucking spirit, this shallow, surface level game you've got her playing will put all of us in the ground.”

Letting him go, I stepped back, grabbing the box. “Let's hope for the shanked in prison thing, then. Yeah?”

His eyes burned on the back of my head as I left the room. Outside, Georgia was waiting for me on the front steps. November had created constant rain, but she wanted to be out in the open as often as I'd let her.

I didn't believe she'd run again. Not after what I'd revealed to her. Perhaps being honest was the truly selfish thing, because it had insured that Georgia finally did as she was told. But my guilt over it all was a constant weight on my chest.

The heavy rain had left massive puddles around the outside of the house. As we passed the left side, I noticed the ground there was sunken in. “I hope we don't get flooding inside,” I mumbled. “I'll ask Lonnie about it later. There was a big storm back in the spring, he said the cellar got pretty wrecked then.”

Georgia followed my eyes. “You were here in the spring?”

“Lonnie was. He's been holding up here since then, kind of like a squatter.” He'd come here to get away from the world while he figured out what to do without Dad guiding us. It was convenient that the abandoned island served as a perfect place for our current dirty work.

“It's dry today,” she said, stretching out her arms. “Maybe it'll stay like that.”

“Maybe.” We circled the island, crossing by the fence that blocked the docks, by the cliff that could snap our necks. Finally, we spread a blanket on the gravel and sat on it.

“When asked for more fresh air, I never expected a picnic,” she said, chuckling.

My smile was wry. “Happy birthday,” I said, offering her the box.

She blinked. “Sorry, did you say birthday?”

“Today is November 2nd.” Her face fell. My black guilt spread to my limbs, I became sluggish all over. Reaching for the box took too long. “You're right. I'm sorry, this was tone deaf of me.”

To her credit, she recovered and smiled. “It's fine, just... shocking. Come on, what did you get me?” She picked the present up curiously. I hadn't wrapped it, but I'd stuck a purple, shiny ribbon on top.

Examining the box, she opened it like it was full of fragile porcelain. I watched how wide her beautiful eyes were capable of getting. “I told you forever ago that I'd sneak you some cake,” I said. “I never got to. And I'm glad for that, of course, but a promise is a promise.”

Georgia gazed down at the whipped cream topping on the small slice of cake. Lonnie thought I'd left yesterday morning to get more supplies. I hadn't lied entirely; I'd just also bought a strawberry and cream cake slice from the nearest bakery.

It had been a huge risk.

I didn't regret it at all.

“Conway, how did you remember?”

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