Page 141 of Boy of Ruin
She turns my way, her eyes searching mine.
I keep my head tilted back, against the rocking chair, listening. I knew about the photos. But I didn’t know about all of this shit. Seems I wasn’t crazy after all. Someone was watching me.
“Then the night you came back, Elijah’s wife never came home from her private Pilates class.” She shrugs. “And the night before that, a dancer was killed in Jeremiah’s club.” She stumbles over his name, like it’s a curse.
I kind of hate her for that.
I hate how everyone hates him.
I think about Cindy grinding against Jeremiah, wonder again if it was her. How long was she alive after that?
“That’s why Lucifer finally came for me?” I spit at her. “Because someone is after them, and he’s getting scared?” I sit up straighter, twisting in the seat. “That’s it? Let me guess, the entire time I was fucking gone…he didn’t get help? Go to rehab? Have someone come to him to get clean?” Imagining any of the Unsaints in rehab is hilarious, but I know they have means. Someone could’ve fucking helped.
There has to be some mental health professional he could see that isn’t Father goddamn Tomas.
“He was fucking Ophelia, all this time?” I press, my blood pressure rising. “Julie, too?”
“He went to Julie’s because someone left a…” She clears her throat, glancing down at her lap as she smooths her hands over her thick thighs. “Someone left a cat’s head,” she finally finishes.
I blink, my mouth going dry.
“On her doorstep. He wanted to see if anyone was connected to that, and what’s happening here.” She meets my gaze again. “He’s in love with you, Sid.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t fucking know him.” But I think about the cat’s head. About why Lucifer really went to Julie’s.
But even still. “Why’d he take Ophelia there?” I press Ella, wishing I didn’t fucking care. “Why’d she have to fucking go for that?”
Ella glances down at her lap again, and she doesn’t look at me when she answers, her voice low. “He doesn’t like to be alone.”
Something about that answer causes my stomach to twist into knots. That answer, and the way her cheeks flush pink.
I dig my nails deeper into the tops of my hands, deep enough to draw blood. I don’t fucking care anymore. I don’t care.
But I still can’t stop from snarling, “Seems you’d know all about that, huh? My husband not wanting to be alone?”
I’m bluffing, because she wouldn’t have touched him. Mav wouldn’t have let her.
But then I think about Maverick fucking me at that house in Raven Park. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t hesitate to run and tell Lucifer right after either. If he’d be okay with his girl fucking anyone, it would be Lucifer.
I feel sick.
Ella’s blush deepens, and she doesn’t look up at me.
“You didn’t.” I stand, taking a step back, away from her and she finally picks her head up. “You didn’t actually fuck my husband too, did you?” I want more venom in my words, but instead, there’s just a harsh whisper. A broken sound.
Her eyes flick to my belly, then back up to me, and for some reason, that pisses me off more.
“Yeah,” I snarl, anger heating my blood, “I guess you didn’t think about his pregnant fucking wife while you were fucking him?” I shriek the last words, and all I can think about is Ophelia in my house. Coming from my. Fucking. Bedroom.
All I can think about is Julie.
Ella.
I’m going to vomit.
My stomach heaves, and I clamp a hand over my mouth.
Ella stands on shaky legs, taking a step toward me.
