Page 118 of Pray for Scars
But she had it handled. I heard her say, “I’m not fucking you,” and “We can talk about Poe, though,” which seemed innocent enough, but I knew Lucifer would lose his shit. So here we are.
And I hear Sid laughing her ass off. Cackling, is more like it. I bite my lip so I don’t smile because even Lucifer knows that laugh is cute as fuck.
But he doesn’t look like he’s thinking very cute thoughts right now.
He goes for the door handle first. It’s locked because these two fucks inside really must wanna lose their heads.
He doesn’t say a word as he pounds on the door, and I know, just like he did with me and Sid when he saw me straddling her on my bed and shoved a lamp pole against my throat—I deserved it—he’s gonna lose his shit when he goes inside.
Truth be told, I think Sid likes it. It gets her off. I don’t even blame her. It’s how she learned what love looked like. From an angry fuck of a brother to Lucifer, to…fucking Lazar, goddamn him. She’s used to violence.
It’s her love language. And when London unlocks the door and pulls it open, I catch a glimpse of her by the window in the spare bedroom, a small book between her fingers.
And when Lucifer cocks his fist back and launches it into London’s face, I see her roll her eyes. But she doesn’t bother saying a damn word. She just flips a page in her book while London covers his face with his hands and tries to say he didn’t do anything wrong.
Lucifer shoves him against the wall. “Being in the same room as mywifewith the fucking door locked?” He slams his fist into the mirror beside London’s head and this motherfucker actually picks out a shard of the glass that hasn’t fell yet and he holds it to London’s throat.
London’s eyes are wide and none of that football tackling bullshit he got his cock sucked for back in college is gonna save his sorry ass now. Did I mention London Hamilton is a known pussy hopper? He broke up a marriage already, between a professor and her husband (now ex). Maybe that’s why I invited him here. Not to mention how Sid did a motherfucking back flip into his arms at the pool at Liber all those weeks ago.
Distraction.
I whistle, stepping into the room, and Sid shoots me a glare before walking up to Lucifer.
“Let the kid go,” she says, even though she’s younger than all of us. She has the book still clutched in her hand.
Lucifer stills, but he’s still got that glass against London’s throat.
I hop onto the bed, ready to watch the show. Wish I had some popcorn.
“Why,”Lucifer grounds out.
Sid scoffs. “You can’t very well kill him here at Atlas’s house,” she says, annoyed.
“Did he touch you?”
“I mean, our fingers might’ve brushed up against one another when—”
Lucifer slams his fist on the wall beside London’s head, and London tries his damndest not to flinch, his eyes screwed up tight. Because he knows if he does flinch, that glass is gonna hit his jugular.
“You know what the fuck I mean,” Lucifer growls.
Sid runs her hand through her dark hair, looks down at her boots. She’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, like she always is. Like Lucifer always is.
“No,” she finally answers, taking her sweet time.
Lucifer glares at London for a minute, then he releases him, pointing to the door. “Get out of this fucking house.”
London leaves in a hurry and I hear him running down the stairs, hear the chimes of the alarm when he opens the door, then slams it closed.
I burst into laughter.
Lucifer whirls around, his eyes cutting to mine. “Get.Out.”
I slowly get off the bed, nod to him, wink at Sid, and walk to the door. I’m closing it behind me, giving them their hate fuck, when I hear Lucifer say in a hushed voice, “I love you, baby girl. But why did you lock the door?”
A beat of silence.
“So London and I could read Poe in peace.”
