Page 83 of Scarred Sins
“If you plan on doing it professionally, definitely work on your landing.’’
She sips on her latte, then leans back in the comfortable chair. “I don’t want to do it professionally. It’s just a hobby. I love doing it because it keeps me in shape and because I need at least one extracurricular activity.’’
I hum. “When’s your next game? I’ll come watch.’’
Aria’s eyes light up in excitement, but in true defiant teenage manner, she masks it with indifference, shrugging. Looking at her now, she looks like a normal teenager and not like a daughter of two assassins and someone who is a sniper in her free time.
“Next week,’’ she says. “That’s why I’ve been practicing a lot more lately and haven’t been home as much. It’s an important game. Last time we played this school, they beat the crap out of us. I’m planning on evening out the score.’’
Her phone buzzes, and she takes it out of her pocket. Her eyes skim through the message, and she sends a quick reply before locking the device and putting it on the table.
“Is everything alright?”
She nods. “It’s just Arlo, reminding me to grab him some bleach and a toner.’’
“Wait, you bleach his hair? I always assumed he went to a professional.’’
“Yeah, I do it,’’ she nodded. “He bleached his hair for the first time on the day of Aunt Jane’s wedding, and it was her idea. Then, until she was killed, she was the one bleaching it for him. I started doing it when I was old enough.’’
I pause for a moment. “Can I try it?”
Aria grins. “Absolutely. If you fry off his hair, I’ll pay you.’’
A small chuckle slips past my lips, and I shake my head. “I’ll try not to fry his hair off. Somehow, I feel like he absolutely adores his hair, and neither you nor I will be let off the hook if we fuck it up.’’
Aria laughs. “That’s true. But hey, if you do accidentally burn his hair, please send me a picture. I need more Arlo blackmail material.’’
I pause. “More? So you have some already?”
A mischievous glint is in her eyes, and she smirks. She takes her phone back up, then starts scrolling through her gallery. She has a folder labeledArlo,and the things I’m seeing are surreal. I barely hold in my laughter, finding the entire situation hilarious.
“How much money do you want to send me for all of those?”
“I don’t need your money,’’ she shrugs. “I’ll just do it because I want to see him embarrassed.’’
The rest of the morning flies by. Surprisingly, Aria’s cold exterior started to melt pretty quickly, and I couldn’t have imagined how much of a bubbly girl she is. She was speaking nonstop, always having a subject to speak on. She ended up sending me every blackmail material she had on Arlo, and I already developed a plan on how to use it.
Aria wasn’t kidding when she said she’d be including me in the family because that’s exactly how she made me feel – included. I’ve never had a sibling, but if I did, I think this is what it would be like to have a younger sister. Someone like Aria is very hard not to love. She’s cunning, even a little manipulative, but she has a heart of gold underneath the masks of indifference and the walls she’s built.
And I’m grateful she decided to let me see her for who she truly is.
–
The atmosphere is light, as if we don’t have an entire war ahead of us.
Noelle’s in the kitchen, baking chocolate chip cookies and a batch of brownies. The entire place smells delicious, and she’s even humming a soft tune. Her apron is in a deep shade of red, with a lot of small knives embroidered on it. Very fitting.
She slices up the brownies and sets aside one piece. She puts it on a small plate carefully, then pours a very,verygenerous amount of strawberry syrup on top of it. A smirk tugs on the corner of her lips, and she nods to herself.
I’ve never seen anyone put strawberry syrup on brownies.
“Who’s the piece for?” I ask, sitting on one of the high stools at the kitchen counter, sipping on some coffee.
“My husband,’’ she answers, but the tone of her voice sends chills down my spine. It sounds almost ominous, and the way she’s smirking at the piece of brownie makes me a little uncomfortable. I decide not to press further and look away, glancing out of the window.
Aria and Hudson are outside, playing volleyball. It’s almost too cold for me to even think of going out, and seeing them in just a long-sleeved shirt with nothing on top makes me shudder. They’re laughing and chatting, and I can’t help the pang of jealousy that courses through my body.
My stepfather was a monster, and I never knew my real one. Even when I begged my mother for any sort of information on him, she just wouldn’t tell me. She told me that a worthless whore like me never deserved to know the truth – I never even got the name.
