Page 4 of These Monstrous Ties
We’re in the man’s house this time. A man who wronged Jeremiah in some way. But there are a thousand ways to wrong Jeremiah, each one stranger and more arbitrary than the last. There are a thousand ways to insult the Order of Rain, too. It’s funny, how I share his last name. But aside from keeping me on a tight leash, I don’t get any of the privileges that come with it.
Blood is oozing on the plush carpet, and the man is completely naked. There are more stab wounds than I could possibly count on his body. I should be appalled. I guess I kind of am, but what is there to do about it? The man is already dead. He was dead the minute he wronged my brother. A dozen times I thought he would be arrested. A dozen times he proved he was above the law.
With the amount of money he has, I’m not that surprised.
I can smell the blood, iron and bordering on rot. I don’t know how long ago Jeremiah did this; he never takes me for the kills. I don’t even know if he does them all himself. His right-hand man, Nicolas, is usually by his side. He’s in the shadows now, along with Kristof, his guard. I can’t see them, but I’m aware of their eyes on me.
Finally, I tear my eyes away and look at my brother.
“Jeremiah,” I plead, “I see it.” I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. It’s not like I haven’t tried this before. It always ends the same way. Every fucking time.
His dark brows go up. He’s kept the lights on in this man’s living room, to better show the damage. I know that with the state of this body, he’s done this. There’s no one more fucked up than he is working for the Order of Rain. This is his work, and he wants me to know it.
“But do you feel it?” he asks me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I slip my hands into my hoodie pockets, shift a little in my combat boots. I shake my head, confused. My heart is hammering in my chest.
“Do youfeelit, Sid, that’s what I’m asking you?” Jeremiah smooths his hands down his grey collared shirt, cocking his head, staring at me. Waiting for an answer. Whatever the answer is, it’ll be the wrong one.
I’m so tired of this shit.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask him. I’m used to striding these lines. Playing the meek sister. The weak sister. And then Lilith comes out to play, like she did that night one year ago.
He grins at me, white teeth flashing. I know that’s not a good sign. Nothing good comes from my brother’s smile.
“Touch him,” he urges me, slipping his hands in his pockets, nodding toward the corpse.
I shake my head without looking back at the guy. “No.”
I hear Nicolas cough at my back, warning me. But Jeremiah shifts his gaze to him, and there’s silence stealing through the house again. Nicolas is twenty-five. Two years older than Jamie. Five years older than me. But he cows to him like everyone else.
Everyone except me. When I can stand it.
“Did you say ‘no’?” Jeremiah presses. He looks delighted. He likes this game. Sometimes, in these moments, he reminds me of Lucifer. Except Lucifer was much crueler. I wonder if my brother knows that. I wonder if he has any idea how he pales in comparison. I think he thinks of all of the Unsaints, he was the worst one.
He’s dead wrong.
“I’m not touching him. Let’s go.” I turn to go. I catch Nicolas’s eye.
He coughs into his fist, loudly. Warning me again. But Nicolas can go to hell for all I care. He had tended to me when I’d been in that cell the first two weeks after Halloween last year.
Bytended to,I mean he force fed me and stood guard day and night. Through everything.
“Your arrogance is astounding, Sid.” Jeremiah pauses, letting me take a step. I’m tense, because I know what’s coming. But he’s keeping me on edge.
I take another step.
Finally, he grabs my wrist, jerking me to a stop. I still. It doesn’t surprise me.
“Touch him,” he says again, his words brushing against my ear, his voice a growl.
I stiffen. Fear crawls down my spine.
I yank my hand away from his and turn back to the body. The man was probably in his thirties. He’s fit, lots of tattoos on his torso, some torn away by the knife my brother plunged into his flesh again and again. He’s lying in a pool of his own blood which means my black boots will probably get in it. But his head is untouched. His eyes are unseeing, he’s got closely cropped blonde hair, not too different than Nicolas’s.
That’s where I’ll do it. Because I can’t keep disobeying Jeremiah. It’ll only get worse.
I carefully walk around the body, avoid the coffee table he’s lying a foot from. I crouch down, take a breath, and reach my hand out to the man’s clean-shaven face.
