Page 140 of Boy of Ruin
Nicolas nods once, arching a brow. “True,” he says. “And Lazarus is good. Got what we needed.”
I force myself not to roll my eyes at the nickname. “Yeah, but this whole anonymity shit is grating on my nerves.” I walk across the room, past Nicolas, who swivels to face me. I grab a white hand towel from the pile of them, folded neatly and stacked on the cabinet beside the water cooler. I wipe the towel over my face, around the back of my neck. “If they want to keep working for us, we need to meet in person.”
Nicolas bounces on the balls of his toes, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve checked into them. Their reputation is stellar.”
I sling the towel over my shoulder. “Maybe,” I concede, “but their fees are a little fucking excessive.” Draining my bank account slowly just for information. It can be currency, but I’m still having to do all the fucking work.
“Everything you do is excessive, J,” Nicolas says mildly, and I dip my chin, arching a brow, my hand clenched tight around the towel over my shoulder. “But Roman has news for you,” he adds quickly, almost nervously. “And by news I mean…”
I smile at Nicolas, relaxing. “Pedo Phil?” I run my tongue over my teeth, glance at those free weights again. “You know, I’ve always wanted to bash the governor’s skull in with a dumbbell.”
“Are you hungry?” Ella asks for about the hundredth time.
I look over my shoulder, see her hovering by the door to the screened-in porch. Her expression is wary, as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with me.
The feeling is very, very mutual.
I twist my fingers in my lap, try not to think about Jeremiah’s question. “Where’s your goddamn ring?”
Rings don’t matter to boys like Lucifer. Fuck, marriage doesn’t matter to girls like me. But all I can hear is Jeremiah’s words ringing in my head, and if it weren’t for the guards surrounding Mav’s house, for his insistence that he’s keeping his eyes out for J, I’d have already run again.
I haven’t seen Lucifer since I broke down in his arms, three days ago.
I don’t want to fucking see him, but apparently, Mav is taking us to Liber next week. I think he’s lost his fucking mind, but he says they need a break. Ezra needs an escape, and turning to drugs and alcohol seems to be the Unsaint’s MO.
I’ll hide in my room all night. Lock Lucifer out. Fuck them all.
Why did you leave me, J? But even though I’ve repeated that question over and over in my head for the past few days, I know the answer. I would have done the same damn thing. Besides that, if he had fought back…they would’ve hurt him more.
Don’t leave me for good. My stomach twists into knots, thinking of what he might be planning. Thinking of where he is. I know how easy it can be to run from this street, despite the guards.
I went through the backyard once. Got picked up by Nicolas. As controlling and rich as my husband is, he actually isn’t God.
I offer Ella a fake smile. “I’m okay,” I tell her, lying through my teeth. I don’t think I’ve been okay in a long, long time. Maybe never.
I turn back to gaze out at the dark forest beyond the house. The guard is in front of the door the leads off to the backyard, to the oasis of trees and a garden that I’m sure Ella tends to.
Ella isn’t even Mav’s wife, but she’s the perfect housewife all the fucking same.
I wonder what she does all day while he works. I wonder what she wants to be doing. If she ever thinks of running, or if that’s just me.
I shift in the rocking chair I’m in, leaning my head back against it and closing my eyes. I hear the screen door close to the house and I think Ella has gone back inside, but then the creak of wood is beside me and my eyes fly open, connecting with her green ones. She’s in the chair beside me. Off to her right, a little stone fountain provides the only break in the heavy silence between us on the hot spring night.
“Do you know what’s going on?” she asks me quietly.
I stare at her a moment, trying to gauge her angle. The only person who has always been on my side has been Jeremiah, and even he lied to me about the biggest things. I wonder if Ella is trying to pry. To report back to Mav. Lucifer.
But her eyes are wide and innocent, her red hair in a messy bun, a few strands framing her freckled face. She’s wearing a red skirt, her feet bare, red coating her toenails. Her fingers are drumming against the arms of the chair, and I see her breasts straining against the white T-shirt she’s wearing, tied just over her hip. Her belly is soft, spilling over the top of her skirt, her skin flawless.
I think about Lucifer taunting me about O’s curves. Julie’s.
I feel sick and dig my nails into the top of my hands. “No,” I finally answer her, because I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
She nods, as if she expected that answer, and then she turns to gaze out at the guard, at her backyard. She looks so young from this angle, her lips plump, her face, too. She’s nineteen, Mav had told us. Nineteen, and she’s already thrown her life away by entangling herself in something as sinister as the 6. The fucking Unsaints.
The brotherhood from hell.
“Someone had photos of you,” Ella says quietly, still staring straight ahead, telling me something I already know. “You were…” she shakes her head, her brow furrowing, but she still doesn’t look at me. “You were running. The pictures were delivered like a message. On Elijah’s guard’s lap, in the car they shot him in.”
