Page 68 of These Monstrous Ties
Julie.
Her name feels bitter in my brain.
The house we pull up in front of is bigger than Julie’s, a large brick house, three stories high. The driveway here is paved, and there’s a three-car garage off a brick pathway a little distance from the house. Lucifer doesn’t bother to park in one of the three. Instead, he stops the car in front of the porch and kills the lights and the engine. The Range Rover parks beside us.
“You know Jeremiah will come for you.” It isn’t a threat I whisper to him in the dark. It’s just the truth. “He’ll come for you, and he will kill you.”
There’s a long stretch of silence between us. I wonder if he’ll get out, yank me out with him, and not say a word. I wonder what he plans to do to me. What he can possibly do that’s worse than what he’s done.
He brushes his thumb over his lip.
“I hope he does come for me,” he finally says. Then he gets out, snatches up the gun from the side of the door, and slams it behind him. In seconds, he’s on my side, opening the door and unbuckling my seatbelt before he hauls me out, over his shoulder. He might be lean, the leanest among the Unsaints, but he’s fucking strong. I feel weightless in his arms.
Weightless and insignificant.
“I can walk,” I grind out. The Unsaints get out of their car and laugh at those words. Lucifer doesn’t bother putting me down as he walks up the steps on the porch, fishes a key out of his pocket with the same hand that holds his gun. He unlocks the door and squats a little to bring me in the house without banging my head against the doorframe.
The rest of them walk in behind him and someone shuts the door, and I hear the click of the lock. Then Lucifer sets me down.
It’s dark inside the foyer. A staircase bisects the entranceway, and beyond that, there’s an open plan living room with leather couches and a television that looks like it was built into the wall. The place doesn’t smell stale, like it’s been kept shut up for a long time. Instead, it smells like cigarettes.
His cigarettes.
But I can’t imagine this is his home. It’s not as opulent as I imagined it would be.
He’s behind me, and neither of us have moved since we came in. The Unsaints make themselves at home here, sitting on the couch in the living room, save for Mayhem. He stays at my back, by the door.
I turn to Lucifer, crossing my arms over my chest.
“What do you want with me?”
He smiles, his dimples flashing. I marvel at how smooth his pale skin is. The only sign of any imperfection on his face, in the symmetry of his features, is that his top lip is bigger than his bottom. But it only serves to make him more beautiful.
He sets the gun on the table by the door, a mirror hanging above it. My eyes don’t leave his.
Then he reaches for me, spins me around, and shoves me against the wall beside the door, Mayhem watching us. Lucifer moves his hands from my chest to either side of my head as he glares down at me. Likeheis angry. But he doesn’t have any right to be. Sure, maybe I’m going to kill his girlfriend. Maybe I’d broken into that house, whosever it was. Maybe I’m going to fuck him over as hard as he’s fucked me over. But he had started this chain of events a year ago. He had taken my chance to get out of this hell that was my life, and he’d pushed me into the arms of a monster who was nearly as bad as he was.
Nearly.
But not quite.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I breathe, my hands down by my sides, clenched into fists. It’s a lie. I know he knows it’s a lie. But I don’t care. I’m not going to admit to my fear. And Jeremiah really will come for me. I might only be able to count on him for pain and anger and vengeance, but Icancount on it. Which is more than I can say for Lucifer.
I can’t count on him for anything at all.
“You’re a bad liar, Lilith.”
Mayhem laughs softly under his breath. The three boys in the living room are whispering to each other, low murmurs. I can’t make out what they’re saying.
I tense at the name Lucifer called me. I’m not Sid right now. But he’s still Lucifer. He’s always been Lucifer.
His finger trails down my jaw, coming to rest on my throat. His eyes flick there, to the bruises. I feel my face burn with shame.
“Who did that?” he asks me quietly.
I don’t answer him. He trails his finger down lower, to the edge of my hoodie. He pulls at it but makes no move to take it off. Beneath, I have on a black sports bra. I don’t want to undress in front of him. I don’t even want to be near him. But even so, I can’t get myself to move. To say something. Being so close to him clouds my judgement.
This man took advantage of me. He left me. He lied to me.
