Page 40 of Pray for Scars
“Come on,Sidney.Let’s talk.”
“Okay, Nicky.”
And together, we walk into his building, take the elevator up to the top floor because of course, and then he lets me into his clean apartment, and I feel likeI’mthe unsanitary thing in here after what happened in the woods. Being chained to Mayhem’s bed.
What happened at Sanctum.
I shove that thought far, far from my mind.
Nicolas locks and bolts the door, and I’m grateful for it. I also see a gun in the foyer, on a decorative table. No surprise. But he doesn’t touch it, only sets down his keys and together, we head to his living room. He flicks on the light above us, takes the recliner, and I sink down into the plush leather couch across from the short glass table between us. I glance at the balcony, remember Jeremiah and Lucifer fighting on one just like it. Remember me screaming at my brother. Remember how he wore a mask that made him look like Batman.
The wronged orphan who came to own the city.
Not too far off.
I can see the city of Alexandria sprawled out in the distance, but we’re far enough away I don’t feel too panicked that anyone will find me here. Unless Nicolas gives them a personal invitation.
“Where have you been?” Nicolas starts with. As if that’s important. He changed the hotel deed back to my brother’s name, and I haven’t heard from him since. Or rather,hehasn’t heard fromme.Our distance was my choice. I’m probably going to regret closing it.
My stomach growls and his brows shoot up. “Or do you wanna snack first?”
I glare at him, and the corners of his deep brown eyes crease with amusement, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.Fuck off.
“Where is my brother?”
This surprises him. He blinks, leans back in the chair, runs his hands along his shorts. We’re both still wearing our shoes, even though his apartment is covered with light, cream-colored carpet. Seems like a rude thing to do, wear our shoes inside. But I’m too tired to care.
It’s tidy in here, but I realize that might be more because there’s hardly anythingherethan because Nicolas has done a great job cleaning the place.
“I don’t know,” Nicolas answers after a moment, his eyes on mine. I can’t tell if he’s lying.
“You don’t?” I ask, cocking my head. My legs are crossed, and I wish I was wearing something other than Lucifer’s burrowed sweats. “Why don’t we play a game?”
He knows what game, but he doesn’t bite. Not yet. “What did they do to you?” he counters.
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about that right now. The main thing is, I’m fine.”
He sighs. Rolls his eyes. “Go ahead,” he gestures toward me, the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. “But before you waste one of your five questions, I don’t know where your brother is.”
I decide I only half-believe him. He might not know exactly where he is, but he knows how to reach him.
‘Yes or No’ is just what it sounds like, though. No explanations. Only five ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions allowed.
I think carefully, chewing on my lip. I refuse to think of my trip the night before last. I refuse to think of Cain and Mayhem inside of me. Lucifer at my back.
It’s cute that you think I give a fuck who fucks you.
When he had Mayhem pushed up against the wall, lamp to his throat, he sure seemed to give a fuck. When he yanked me from the pool, threatened London, he seemed to give a fuck.
But my brother is like that, too. Heavy on the mind games. Making you think he cares. They’re both alike in another way, too.
They don’t give a fuck about anything.
“Am I involved with the 6 in any way, aside from my connection to Jeremiah?” It’s a tricky question, one Nicolas could easily lie to if he convoluted it in his mind, but I’m hoping he’ll give me something. I’m hoping there’s some small part of him that actually cares for me. That didn’t just pretend to for my brother’s sake.
He shifts in his seat, glancing down at his sneakers. “Yes.”
I feel something cold slither in my gut, and it’s hard to breathe. I clench my fists in my pockets, thinking of Lucifer even though I don’t want to. Of how we met at the intersection. Of his first words to me.
