Page 112 of Revere
Regret?
Sadness?
She shakes it away before I can think too much about it.
“I wonder what he sees in you.” She continues to toy with my hair. “A man like that with so much power.”
“I don’t care about his power.” If anything, I hate it.
“Of course you do.” She brushes my braid off my shoulder. “That much power, and no one can touch you. That’s what you’ve always wanted, right? To be invincible. You’ve always thought you deserved better than me. Better than your whole family.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You think I don’t know you, Patience. But I do. I know him too. Ezra and his fickle heart?—”
“Ezra?” I cut her off, my eyebrows scrunching. “You mean Jacob.”
Mom places her hand over her mouth, pretending to be surprised at what slipped out when it’s clear it wasn’t an accident at all. “Of course. My mistake. Jacob.”
“His name is Jacob,” I say again, my chest tightening. “Jacob Gray.”
Mom doesn’t break my stare as everything starts to crumble around me. Jacob warned me there was more we needed to talk about, but I didn’t listen. Maddox said they shared different fathers,among other things. What else is he hiding?
“What’s his real name?” My heart thunders in my chest. “Who is Jacob?”
37
YOU NEVER KNOW WHO IS WATCHING
JACOB
The echoof sirens follows me into the building. Until it’s nothing but a ringing in my ears. A stirring in my chest.
I rush up the stairs and down the hallway, only to be met with open doors and curious eyes.
“Where is she?” I try to shove past Gideon, who blocks the path into my apartment.
An apartment I spend more time at than Sigma House because she refuses to go to the fraternity with me.
“Collect yourself, Ezra.” Gideon’s grip on my shoulder tightens. “You never know who is watching.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the audience right now. Where is Molly?”
Gideon’s jaw clenches. His eyes turn stone-cold as he shakes his head just once. It’s not an answer, and yet, it tells me everything. Only then does he finally let me go. And even if he’s my mentor, I don’t think twice as I shove past him into my apartment.
My vision swims. Faces blur, watching me weave through the scene.
Molly’s feet are the first things that come into view. Tipped to the side and not moving. I storm into the bathroom, and my stomach heaves, but somehow, I manage to swallow down the vomit.
I’ve witnessed this same scene a hundred times. I’ve set it myself. If I didn’t know Molly, I’d say the staging is a work of art. Every detail meticulously considered so no one would suspect foul play.
Except this scene isn’t like all the others because this body shouldn’t be hers.
Her cheeks should be rosy, not pale. Her eyes should be bright as polished sapphires, not empty and frozen over. Her red hair should be blowing in the breeze. Instead, it’s matted and flat and dull. A crimson halo that matches the blood pool on her arm.
I drop to my knees on the tile, ignoring the sharp sting, and I pull the needle from her skin. I don’t care if it taints the scene. I don’t care about anything at all.
I grab Molly’s cold, lifeless hand, but her fingers don’t curl through mine like they usually do. Dropping my chin, I close my eyes and swallow the scream building in my throat.
