Page 223 of Sins of the Hidden

The brothers and their women had spent their day decorating, planning, celebrating a love story that existed only in their heads. They'd bought champagne. Hung lights. All for a man who'd forced marriage on an unconscious woman and then sat in a bakery like a lovesick fool, waiting for forgiveness that would never come.

The brothers and their women stared at me, excitement dying on their faces as they realized I was alone. A dripping figure, broken flowers clutched in my fist, regret pooling around my feet.

"They’re here! Wait—" Joslyn's voice cut through the space, then died as her eyes met mine. Her blue dress matched her nails, roses clutched in her hands. Her expression crumbled like paper in the rain. "Where's Oakley?"

I didn't speak. Couldn't. Just let water stream from my hair, my clothes, making puddles on their floor while they stared at the wreckage of what I'd thought I could become. I'd never felt more pathetic—soaked through, holding dead flowers, in front of everyone who'd watched me pretend I could be human.

Stupid. That was what I was. Stupid to think a monster could have a wife. Stupid to believe in fairy tales. Stupid to think she'd forgive me for forcing those vows past her unconscious lips, for stealing her choice while she floated somewhere unreachable.

What kind of delusional fuck puts on formal wear and waits three hours for a woman who'd decided he wasn't worth showing up for? The kind who never learned that some things couldn't be fixed. The kind who thought he deserved love when all he'd ever given the world was death.

Law pushed through the crowd, stopping just short of the water spreading from my feet. "Where's Oakley?"

"She didn't show up." The words tore something inside me, each syllable a small death.

Water dripped from my clothes to the floor, the sound deafening in the quiet.

"She wouldn't do that." Claudia's voice cracked as she pushed forward.

I thought she wouldn’t either.

“She texted that she was going to Daphne’s house earlier today.” Nyla piped up.

My phone buzzed. Chet's name flashed on the screen.

He texted me hours ago.It’s time.

I took off without an explanation as the others followed me. The ride to Daphne's house passed in a blur. My bike almost hit the ground as I sprung off of it, the smell hitting me before I reached the house. The front door hung open, swinging in the wind like a broken jaw. Dark handprints smeared the white porch railing, drag marks cutting through pooling rainwater.

Lights flickered, casting grotesque shadows across walls painted with struggle. Furniture overturned, glass shattered across hardwood like stars fallen to earth. Someone had been thrown through the coffee table. Someone else had crawled, bleeding, across the living room floor, leaving trails that spoke of desperate, failing attempts at escape.

And there, sprawled in the center of it all, was Chet.

Limbs twisted at impossible angles, the smart-ass grin I'd grown used to replaced by empty quiet.

"Fuck." Law's voice cracked like a whip through space.

I stood, staring at what remained of the only man who'd ever followed me into hell without question. The world tilted, spinning off its axis around this new center of gravity. Something erupted in my chest—devastating, like a star collapsing in on itself.

The bat slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor with a sound like thunder.

"V—" Law started.

I moved, dropping to my knees beside Chet's broken form. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, blue dulled to dirty gray. His mouth hung open in eternal quiet, no smart-ass remarks left to give.

I bent over him, trying to straighten the limbs that no longer held tension, my hands slipping in what he’d left behind. His eyes were still open—wide, unfocused, staring through me likeI wasn’t even there. I pressed my fingers to his lids, but they fluttered back open, like even in death he couldn’t rest. My thumb left a streak across his cheekbone. I looked away from the eyes that should’ve blinked, should’ve narrowed in pain or rolled at something I said. But they just stared at nothing, and I couldn’t take it—I couldn’t take him looking without seeing.

You were supposed to call me brother.

"V," Law's voice was resigned, closer now.

He pressed a piece of paper into my hand. The note was written in elegant script, handwriting so familiar it made my stomach clench with recognition. Four numbers burned through the paper into my brain.

Come home, 6325.

I crushed the paper in my fist, knuckles turning white. The emptiness inside me filled suddenly with something dark and vicious and hungry. Something I recognized. Something I'd been born in, raised on, shaped by.

My past had taken everything. My childhood. My freedom. My sanity. Now Chet.

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