Page 29 of These Monstrous Ties
“Your turn,” he whispers against my lips.
Chapter Ten
Present
My first thoughtis about the child. I know it shouldn’t be. I know I should be a better person. But I can’t stop thinking about that girl’s belly, sitting tight and plump between her and Lucifer when they were speaking.
And then Ria’s words, about not knowing. Lucifer’s confirmation, that he didn’t know.
I want to know about her. About the baby. So I ask Nicolas.
He’s day drinking, because the Rain mansion doesn’t follow the natural order of things: breakfast, lunch, dinner. Work in between. No, the Rain mansion specializes in night murders, drug trafficking, and lots and lots of booze.
That and marijuana are the only drugs Jeremiah lets people consume who work for him. They’re drug tested. And they know better than to try to fake one.
I’m not. I don’t know why. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he knows I’ve never been drawn to drugs.
Not yet.
Anyhow, getting piss drunk before ten in the morning is perfectly acceptable in the Rain mansion, as long as work gets handled.
Nicolas guzzles his beer as I sit across from him in one of the living rooms. It used to be a bar, and it still has a bar. But Jeremiah had wanted a bigger bar. Now there are three in the Rain mansion.
The lights are dim, tinted glass shielding us from the warm, mid-October sun.
I remember, vaguely, California’s fall. It was mild, but here...well, North Carolina is still sweltering during the day.
By Halloween, though, it usually cools off. Nights are already dropping in temperature.
Nicolas sets the empty bottle on the edge of the dark red leather chair. I have my knees tucked into my chest, my hands stuffed into my hoodie pockets. Years of dressing up for men left me with a style that screams, “I just woke up”. It’s comfortable. I love it. No one leers at me this way.
Nicolas’s deep brown eyes find mine. Then they go lower. To my throat.
There are purple and yellow bruises there, too high up to hide under my hoodie. Probably from Kristof. Maybe from my brother.
Nicolas sighs and stretches his legs out. He wears dark jeans, a loose-fitting t-shirt that shows off his tan skin, scarred arms. Nicolas hadn’t made his way to the foster system as a child. But he should have. Even I can admit he would’ve been better off. Most of his scars came from his own mother.
“Your brother told me not to tell you any of this,” he finally says, looking down at the polished wooden floor now.
I scoff. “Since when do you let my brother order you around?”
He barks a laugh. “Since I started working for his punk ass all those years ago.”
When Nicolas dealt on the streets. He was known for his quality goods and his word. My brother had told me as much, during one of the many times he tried to compare me to his more competent men. Even to the Unsaints themselves. Although never Lucifer.
“Yeah, stupid question,” I murmur. But even still, I’m not letting it go. “Let’s just do a little ‘Yes’ or ‘No’?” I waggle my brows as he looks back at me, a smirk on his face. It was a game we played when I didn’t want to talk, and he wanted to let me vent, with few words. We asked ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ questions, and no explanation was required. Or, in fact, allowed. All part of the game.
He sighs, lifts his hands in a shrug. “Fine,” he growls.
There’s a five-question limit unless the party being interrogated agrees to lift it. I feel confident he won’t, so I don’t press it.
I tap my fingers together, pressing the tips against one another. “Does Lucifer have a child?”
“Going in for the kill,” Nicolas mutters, shaking his head. He heaves a sigh and plays with the clear beer bottle on his armchair, twirling it around and around. “Yes.”
I feel like I want to throw up. But that will get me nowhere.
“Is he with the mother of that child, romantically?”
