Page 65 of Tell Me Why
He reaches over and sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. “You need to eat something other than fries,” he commands.
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue, because I know it won’t do me any good, anyway. I stab a chunk of scrambled eggs and take a bite. “Happy?”
“Tell me about your parents,” he says, abruptly changing the subject. “Were you close?”
I sit back and shrug. “I didn’t see my dad much growing up. He was always dealing with some society thing. But my mom—” I pause, remembering her. “—she always wanted a daughter, so yeah, we were close. She spoiled me. I could get away with anything around her,” I laugh.
“You were lucky.”
“Yeah.” I shrug, remembering the gut-punch of being told she’d died. “Until I wasn’t.”
“What happened?” he asks, hesitation in his voice.
I shrug again. “Right before Christmas, when I was twelve, she was killed.”
Maybe he can tell I’m holding back, because he leans forward and pins me down with a stare. “Whathappened,Eve?”
My throat suddenly feels tight, and I struggle to speak past it. “I don’t know, exactly. My brother and I were at school, and my parents were at a restaurant, having lunch. After they ate, then were outside, waiting for their car when some kind of argument broke out, and she was—” That last word “shot” sticks in my throat, and for the life of me, I can’t get it out. It’s ridiculous, really. She was killed seven years ago, and at this point, I should be able to talk about it without choking up. But I haven’t quite gotten there yet.
I can still vividly remember being pulled out of class and into the front office. My brother was already there, waiting in one of those blue plastic chairs. We were taken into the counselor’s office, and I can still remember the confusion, coupled with the vibe that something wasverywrong—all the adults were acting so stiff, formal.
Then we were told. There’d been an incident, and our mother hadn’t made it. She’d been ripped away from us. Just like that. Torn out of our lives like a tree being uprooted. The news was so abrupt and so surreal, I didn’t believe it at first. It wasn’t until I saw her body at the wake a couple of days later that I had no choice but to accept it.
The whole thing was so unbelievably fucked up.
“Any idea who was responsible?” he asks.
“No one was ever arrested.” Emotion tightens in my chest. It’s a familiar feeling that I’ve learned to embrace, because fighting it does no good. “But my dad said it was someone from the Burning Crown, a Sacred Son.”
Christian doesn’t seem surprised to hear that.
“Was there a reason?” he asks calmly, studying me.
I push out a heavy breath. “My mom was an outspoken woman with a strong moral compass. And around that time, a couple of girls in Malibu had gone missing. The police weren’t really looking for them, so Mom leaned on her society contacts and started digging around. That’s just how she was. She saw an injustice and actually did something about it.” I shrug one shoulder. “But the Burning Crown didn’t appreciate her sniffing around, I guess, because they killed her. Brutally. Right there in the open, in broad daylight.”
His brows pinch together, like he doubts my story. “Killing someone in the open like that—” He shakes his head. “—that’s not how the Burning Crown operates.”
“So, you’re saying the Burning Crowndoesn’tjust randomly kill people?” I say, tilting my head to the side. “Like Tyler?”
His jaw tightens, and he takes a drink of his water, then sets it down. “Tyler was a different situation,” he says.
Andrea pops up out of nowhere, startling me. I was so locked in on Christian that I didn’t see her sneak up. “Everything tasting okay?” she asks Christian. “Can I get you any condiments?”
“We’re good, thanks,” I say, annoyed that she interrupted us. When she leaves, I level a glare at Christian. “It’s funny how anyone who gets in the way of the Burning Crown ends up dead.”
He shakes his head. “Yeah,funny.”
Pushing my plate away, I lean forward. “Tell me something, has anyone ever escaped your cultish orbit without getting totally wrecked? Seems like anyone who gets close to a Sacred Son ends up either dead or damaged.”
He leans back, his expression hardening into something dangerous. “Why? Planning your escape, Little Fox?” One side of his mouth lifts. “Fair warning—nothing gets my blood pumping like a good chase.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Eve
During the shortcar ride back to Rush House, I’m mentally kicking myself. Why’d I have to run my mouth about “escaping his orbit?”
Real smooth.
