Page 27 of Blood Queen

Bianca sits cloaked in shadows at a secluded booth when I arrive, a drink cradled before her, her dark eyes etched with exhaustion and something more raw—grief.

The sight pierces through me, leaving me unsteady.

I force my expression into something neutral, slipping into the seat across from her. “You called.”

She exhales, reaching for her glass with trembling fingers. “I didn’t know who else to trust.”

The words land like a fist to my stomach.

Guilt coils in my ribs, sharp and punishing.She doesn’t know. She can’t know.

“What’s going on?” I ask, voice smooth.

Bianca stares at her drink, then looks up, and for a second, I see the girl she used to be before this world hardened us.

“My brother is dead, Evany,” she whispers. “And I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

I swallow hard. Keep my face blank. “I heard.”

A muscle ticks in her jaw. “There’s a rumor going around.” She leans in, her gaze sharpening. “That you had something to do with it.”

A long, slow beat of silence.

Then I give her my best smirk, the one that says I don’t have a care in the world. “You really think I’d be stupid enough to kill Roberto and stick around for the aftermath?”

Bianca studies me, searching for cracks. “No,” she admits. “But I had to hear it from you.”

She nudges the drink in front of me forward. Whiskey. My usual.

The ice clinks against the glass as I lift it, taking a slow sip. “You were close with him,” I say, keeping my voice easy.

Her eyes glisten. “He was my brother.”

And I put three bullets in him.

The whiskey burns down my throat, but then the rest of my body starts burning too. My vision blurs. My limbs go heavy.

Panic lances through me as I try to move. But my fingers won’t cooperate.

Bianca’s face shifts, sharpening at the edges.

“You shouldn’t have come, Evany,” she murmurs, voice like a lullaby.

The last thing I see before the darkness takes me, is her sad, knowing smile.

16

Past

“Here you go, hon,” Mrs. Biggins says before dropping two folded blankets and a pillow at my feet. “Feel free to take the back cushions off the couch if you need too.”

I stare up at her thankful. “Thank you.” How different it might have been growing up with someone so warm and soft in the house with us.

She arches a brow at me. “Anytime dear. Tomorrow, though, you and I are going to call your dad. Okay?”

My eyes fill with tears, but I manage to hold them back. I’d love to call Papa. I’d give almost anything to hear his voice just one more time. Truman squeezes my hand, and it brings me back to the moment.

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer.

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