Page 13 of Goldrage
“How many secrets do you have?”
She doesn’t even flinch; it’s as if I didn’t say anything.
With a sigh, I rest my head on the pillow behind me. My pain medication has kicked in so my head is woozy. I hate not knowing who my friend might actually be, but I also can’t feel too sorry for myself. I’ve hidden plenty from her, too.
And I’m so tired of lies and shadows.
“Vincent DeMarco,” I say suddenly. “I poisoned him. I watched him choke on his own blood while he begged for help, and I loved every second of it.”
Eleanora’s hands stop for just a moment beforeresuming their work. She doesn’t say anything, just listens.
“Marcus Whitman.” The words are flowing now, pulled out by a desperate need to stop hiding. Where has that gotten me? It got me shot, betrayed, and the love of my life was taken away. There’s no point hiding anymore. “I shot Marcus in a restaurant bathroom. First the knee, then the shoulder. I made him crawl through his own piss before I put the final bullet in his head.”
Eleanora applies antibiotic ointment with soothing strokes, but I catch the tension in her jaw. Is she shocked? Disgusted? God, I can’t tell anymore.
“Who else?” she asks quietly, reaching for fresh bandages.
I list the names like a litany of sins. I orchestrated each death and each moment of vengeance was for my mother. Francis DeMarco, a faked overdose. DeSean Smith, cut open and dumped in the ocean. Lucas Carter… well, he was a moment of insanity that Julian caused.
The only name I can’t say is Victoria’s; I realize only now how deeply I regret taking her life. She didn’t deserve it. Not like the rest.
Eleanora secures the new gauze with medical tape. Her movements never slow despite the horror story I’m reciting. “You’ve been busy.”
I blink at her. That’s it? She’s just indifferent to it all? “You don’t care?” I ask.
She only shrugs. “Why did you do it?”
“Except for Lucas, they were all people who hurt my mother. They deserved it. But you’re not, I don’t know,shocked? You don’t care that your best friend is a murderer?”
She moves to check the stitches along my throat next, her fingers ghosting over Julian’s handiwork. The wound has closed cleanly—whoever stitched me knew what they were doing—but it aches.
“Like you said,” she tells me, “they deserved it. I think the entire Consortium deserves it.” I open my mouth to respond, but she pats my shoulder. “You need to rest more. Stop writing hitlists and close your eyes, okay? Sleep helps the healing process.”
“I can’t rest.” My eyes drift to the window where twilight bleeds across the sky. It’s almost evening, which means Eleanora will leave soon. She’s left every night since we arrived at what remains of Lorenzo’s estate. I have no idea where she goes and just because I told her my secret doesn’t mean she’ll tell me hers. “It’s hard to sleep knowing Adrian is with those monsters.”
For a moment, I glimpse something raw in Eleanora’s expression, like maybe she wants to tell me something. But then it’s gone.
She steps back, gathering her supplies. “Try not to move around too much tonight.”
“Why do you always leave? Lorenzo said you could stay here.”
Eleanora busies herself with packing the medical kit and avoids my gaze. “I have responsibilities. Look, I want to help you, but there are things I need to take care of. Complicated things.”
“Like how you knew where to find me?Or how you took down those guards like some kind of spy? What’s going on with you? Please tell me.”
The silence in the room is heavy with everything she won’t say. It’s not the first time I’ve asked these questions. She never answers, just deflects and disappears into the night like smoke. Part of me wants to grab her, shake the secrets loose, but I barely have the strength to sit upright.
Besides, her mysteries pale in comparison to the crushing weight of not knowing where Adrian is.
Five days. It’s been five fucking days since Julian carried him off, and we have nothing. No word, no sightings, no intel from Lorenzo’s remaining contacts. It’s like they’ve vanished into thin air.
Not knowing is killing me faster than any bullet could.
Eleanora sits on the bed for a moment and takes my hand. The mattress dips under her weight, and I catch a whiff of something unfamiliar on her—gunpowder and leather mixed with the faint trace of her signature vanilla perfume. She’s not going to reveal any mysteries about herself, but she’s still my friend. And she’s trying to comfort me as tears slip down my cheeks; her gaze softer than it’s been in days.
I close my eyes and see Adrian stepping in front of Julian’s gun. I see the shock in his eyes and hear the tenderness in Julian’s voice as he lifts his brother:“Let’s get you home where you belong.”
Julian wanted Adrian alive, so at least I know he’s not dead. But for what? To manipulate him back into the Consortium? To keep him prisoner in some twistedfamily reunion? Or something worse, something my mind can’t even imagine?
