Page 60 of Poison Aches

Kai is driving me to the one place I fucking wish I could set fire to and watch as it all burns down to ash.

It’s raining as we drive up the side of the hills of the Amalfi Coast, Southern Italy. Not the overly romanticized touristy part, but the side that’s barely known.

Grandfather’s huge- ass estate seems to be surrounded by homes of unsuspecting local families that go on about their lives every day, unaware of the danger in their vicinity.

And tonight, with all the wolves, snakes of various kinds, and disgusting rats all hungry for my blood, my presence is required.

“How did you even know it’s me?” George demands.

“Don’t waste my seconds by asking ridiculous questions.”

Silence.

“How is she?” George mutters in a low tone, as if he’s hiding. “And Knight. How’s my nephew?”

“Like I said, call your sister,” I murmur, this time completely engrossed in the full-blown image on the iPad. “As much as basic human decency is your kryptonite, picking up the phone to call your own twin is not that damn hard.”

A picture of Angel.

I drum my fingers against the iPad and stare at the smiling face and dead eyes practically screaming and begging for affection.

I hate that.

I hate how I can clearly identify the emotions and thoughts this girl has just from a glance.

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss, because once you’re aware….

Below her picture is the report on everything she’s been up to for the past few years.

Three and a half years ago, after an intense medical emergency, I decided to give her a pass for all her past indiscretions.

I told myself that I was going to let her go. After all, a lost mind is a headache to deal with.

She’s a fucking headache on her own without the crap she’s put me through.

But now with what Freddy-slash-Jonny—whatever his damn name is—said tonight… it changes the entire game.

Angel remembers something about my mother!

How?

I’m sure Angel doesn’t know what my mother looks like. She’s never even seen a picture of my mother on the days she was snooping around my mansion each time she came over.

Angel knows me, she knows I’ve been looking for my mother, and she can’t lie for shit…so if she knows something, why hasn’t she said anything all these years?

Granted, that bastard might’ve been lying but only a few people, not more than five, know of Angel’s medical history.

If she remembers and never told me…and still has the nerve to look me in the eye and act dumb about it…

According to this report, the girl has no social life whatsoever. She lives in a world of test papers, grades, textbooks, medical journals, and everything that screams ‘trying too hard’.

And something I thought she dropped years ago but apparently, she’s been very active…and daring.

“Are you even listening to me?” the impatient voice on the line demands.

“No,” I snap back.

“You could’ve lied.”

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