Page 40 of Tell Me Why
Christian tells a couple of people to grab a hose and put out the fires, then he tugs me toward the house. As we step inside, he flicks his chin at Jackson, who’s walking in with us. “Grab her phone, will you? We’ll be upstairs.”
“You got it.”
An awkward silence trails us as we head up to Christian’s bedroom. There’s food from my favorite restaurant sitting in front of the door. He snatches it up and ushers me inside.
He’s pissed.
“I didn’t know he’d show up like that,” I say defensively.
Actually, I knew it was a possibility. Sin isn’t the type of guy who’ll sit back and wait to see what happens. He’s impatient. He lashes out first and asks questions never.
“He came by earlier,” Christian says, setting the food down on his desk.
“What?When?Why didn’t you tell me?” Okay, now I’m the one who’s pissed.
He opens the paper bag and starts pulling the food out, bringing it over to me. “No nuts.”
There’s a sticker on the container that says “guaranteed nut-free,” which is exactly why I like this restaurant. It was opened by a woman whose son has allergies like mine. It’s one of the only places I can eat without stressing about dying.
Sitting on the bed, I immediately dig into the falafel and nut-free hummus. I’m so hungry that it feels like the acid in my stomach is starting to eat its way through the lining.
Christian grabs his own container and leans against the desk. “I didn’t tell you about your brother’s visit, because I was going to let you see him tomorrow. I guess that wasn’t early enough for him.”
I shove an entire falafel into my mouth, not bothering to be graceful about it. “Patience isn’t Sin’s strongest quality,” I say between bites. “And, besides that, he has some pretty serious trust issues.”
“No joke,” he says, biting into a beef kabob. “Your brother is fucking unhinged. He should talk to someone about that.”
I lift a brow. “Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black?”
He shrugs a shoulder, conceding that point without saying anything.
“This is what gets me, though—” he says, using his fork to point at me. “I can see it in the way you look at us—you condemn the brutality of the Burning Crown, and yet, Shadow and Ash is just as fucked up, if not more so.”
More so?
I practically choke on a bite of falafel. “They’remorebrutal than the Burning Crown? Is that what you just said?”
He can’t be serious.
“We’ve never gone to someone’s house and killed them on their front lawn.” His voice is even, not arguing, just making a point.
“You keep coming back to that,” I say. “But you’re forgetting one crucial point—you killed our cousin. How was Sin supposed to respond to that?”
Instead of reaching for his usual “it was Burning Crown business” argument, he says, “So Shadow and Ash is a saintly group of activists, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He sets his food aside and crosses his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his back T-shirt straining against his biceps. “Then what are you saying?”
WhatamI trying to say? Pinned down by that crystal-blue gaze, I can barely string a coherent sentence together.
When I don’t answer, he pushes off the desk and walks over to me. “This is what I do know,” he says. “Any society that’s going to survive needs strong leadership, and strong leadership means making tough choices. Choices no one else wants to make.”
I blink up at him. “Is ‘tough choices’ code for murdering people?”
“We protect our own, whatever the cost.”
When he says that, Lucas’s most recent troubles with the police come to mind. A few weeks ago, he was accused of killing some random guy by pushing him in front of an oncoming train. The worst part, though? Lucasthoughtthe guy was his cousin. And for once, there was indisputable evidence that would have convicted him, until that evidence conveniently went missing. No doubt disappeared by the massive Burning Crown machine.
