Page 219 of Satan's Spawn
There’s desperation, and then there’s Alexis, who couldn’t take a hint if it was a dildo shoved into her ass.
I put a pin in the Russian wise guy who’s likely out to kill me and go back to focusing on Rebecca—the girl crazy enough to think it’s a good idea bringing a guy who shares the same torture and murder tendencies as Mr. Clean to meet her parents.
My hand slides into my back pocket when I notice him entering my peripheral, and I instantly freeze.
“Motherfucker.” I hiss, slapping a palm against a passing brick wall.
Rebecca shakes her head, putting a pause on the rambling. “What’s the matter?”
“Forgot my damn switchblade.”
She quirks a brow. “Okay? And? Doubt you’ll need to use it on MomorRoman.”
She doesn’t realize the danger or my attachment to the weapon—probably because I’m the dickhead who refuses to open up to her about any of it.
I’ll stay the dickhead though if it keeps her shielded from the monsters around us…and the monster who made me.
The corner of my lip twitches as I conjure up the easiest comeback. “I don’t like leaving without it.”
Real smooth, asshole.
“Well, you’ll be reunited in no time.” She reaches for my hand, pulling me faster as we approach her building. “Now be nice.” She aims her pointer finger at me. “The goal is to charm ’em. Not harm ’em.”
Exactly why I already hate the shit I’m about to do. But, because of the lack of hate for the girl standing next to me, I’m willing to put on my best fake smile for her mother.
Especially if it keeps Alexis and her father’s plans for me at bay.
* * *
“So…”Rebecca’s mother Nina clears her throat. “I will say I was surprised when Bex told me she’s bringing a boy to Christmas dinner.” Lifting a glass of wine to her lips, she adds, “But you are no boy from the looks of it.” After a quick sip, she places the glass down on the table. “How long have you been a student at Riverside, Crayton?”
I look over at Rebecca with my patience deteriorating, but she’s already pleading with me through beady eyes to keep my cool. Shame she doesn’t do the same with her mother’s endless questioning.
At least now I know where her daughter gets it from.
“How old are you exactly, Crayton?” She continues, oblivious to my annoyance.
“Eighteen.” My jaw muscles tense as I stare at the woman. “And how old areyouexactly?”
Her eyes widen with the question, as if I asked what the bra size was behind her sweater dress.
“So…Roman.” Rebecca clears her throat, trying to change the subject. “How’s the gallery coming along?”
Swallowing a mouthful of turkey, the old man dabs the corner of his lips with a napkin. “We’re making great progress, hoping to have it opened by early spring.”
“That’s amazing.” She exaggerates, cupping her cheeks.
“Yes, we’re so excited for you to see it all done, baby.” Her mom cuts in, squeezing her husband’s shoulder.
Rebecca regards her stepdad anyway. “Well, I can’t wait.”
“So, how did you two meet? Was it romantic?” There goes the Mom again. “To be honest, I was a little worried at first that the kids in Riverside were going to be mean to her. Bex was always a recluse.”
Rebecca chokes on the red wine she just took a sip of.
“Bex, baby, you okay?”
Rebecca gathers herself and cleans the mess she made on the table, then waves. “Wrong pipe.”
