Page 49 of These Monstrous Ties
Kristof is wearing a suit, his own gun at his hip, and he’s holding his massive hands up in submission, shaking his head, darting his eyes to me and back to the gun as he stumbles over excuses.
“I’m sorry,” he’s saying, “I didn’t mean to hurt her. You told me…you told me that she was mine for the night—”
“I didn’t tell you to rape her,” Jeremiah replies coolly. His gaze flicks to mine. “Look at her throat,” he purrs. “Tell me what you see.”
Kristof does. He isn’t surprised, of course. Even in the hoodie I wear now over my jean shorts, the bruises are, unfortunately, visible. I had thought to wrap a scarf around my neck, but then thought the better of. No need to hide war wounds here in this mansion.
“I see…” Kristof trails off, his shoulders sagging, his face scrunching up as he looks back at my brother. “I’m sorry, Rain, I didn’t mean to—”
I roll my eyes. We all know he did, in fact, mean to. We all know he would have finished the job, too, even after I stabbed him, if my brother hadn’t intervened. But I’m not sure what Jeremiah’s next move is. He’s a murderer. If he pulls the trigger, I won’t be all that surprised. But to do it in front of everyone like this…it seems rash.
He sighs, but still aims the gun at Kristof. Everyone in the room seems on edge. Even Nicolas’s thigh is bouncing up and down under the table. The only one who doesn’t seem to care is Brooklin, glancing at her manicured nails as if she can’t wait to get the hell to spin class or a waxing appointment or to trim her pixie cut or some shit.
“Sid, what do you think I should do?” Jeremiah asks me, his eyes trained on Kristof.
I shift in my seat. What the fuck? “I don’t know, Jeremiah. Whatever you think is best.”
His lips twitch into a smile and I see Nicolas bite his lip. “But what doyouthink is best?”
I consider the question. What do I think is best? Obviously, Kristof is a piece of shit. But so is every single person in this room, for different reasons, me included. None of us are saints. We’re the opposite of saints. We’re allunsainted, whether we’re the spawn of the Society of 6 or not.
I drum my fingers on the table. “Let him live,” I finally say.
Nicolas exhales across from me and nods in my direction, as if I made the right choice. I guess even unsaints have some sort of twisted moral code.
“Really?” Jeremiah asks, sounding surprised. But he still doesn’t look at me. He’s enjoying watching Kristof squirm. I think that letting Kristof live might present a problem for my brother in the future. Kristof will be resentful of this little show. He’ll start to hate Jeremiah, if he doesn’t already. That might not bode well for my brother.
But for now…
“Why not?” I ask. “Let him live. Let’s move on for now.”
I think for a split-second Jeremiah is going to pull the trigger anyway. His mouth is pressed into a thin line as he glares at Kristof, and Kristof actually whimpers, flinching as if he’s getting ready to die.
But then Jeremiah lowers the gun.
“For now,” he agrees, tucking the weapon away. “But if you touch my sister again”—he looks around the room now as he speaks—“ifanyof you touch my sister, I will fucking blow your head off.”
Silence greets his words.
I smile. “Let’s get started?” I ask, cocking my head. Surely there’s something else we all came here for.
Jeremiah nods, and tosses a smile my way. Then he sits down opposite Brooklin, at the other end of the table. Kristof tries to get his composure back, tugging on his blazer as he takes up his position on the wall. He looks down at his feet.
“Let’s get started,” Jeremiah echoes. He looks to me. “I’ve got another job for you, before your big Halloween night. If you want it.”
I stop drumming my fingers, place my palms flat on the table. “Oh?” I ask, trying to keep my expression bored. Disinterested. But something twists in my gut. Something is warning me I’m not going to like what my brother has to say next.
Jeremiah nods, rubs his hands together. “One of our guys was killed this morning.” He gives that information without a hint of emotion.
“Which guy?” I ask.
He shakes his head. Clearly someone I don’t know. “Doesn’t matter. A runner.” For drugs. “And the shipment was stolen, over the border.” Mexico. I don’t know much about Jeremiah’s jobs, outside of the ones he showed me the result of, but I know what those words mean. They mean war.
“Who did it?” I ask
He flashes me a smile. “Lucifer. The Unsaints.”
My heart sinks. But I had seen Lucifer last night. And while neither Nicolas nor my brother had bothered to ask me where I had gone when I snuck off, I’m sure they might have had an idea.
