Page 142 of Boy of Ruin
I throw up my free hand. “No,” I mutter beneath the hand over my mouth as my stomach heaves again. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking—”
“Ella?” The screen door opens, and Maverick steps through, a smile on his face, but as he looks between the two of us, his light eyes gleaming in the dim overhead lights of the porch, his smile slips.
And on his heels is my husband.
His nose is red, his eyes, too, demon blue and zeroed in on me.
He looks from Ella, to the hand over my mouth, the one held out in front of me.
Maverick curses under his breath, and I know he knows. He knows what the fuck we were talking about.
He fucking knows.
“You let her?” I ask him, dropping both hands by my sides. Ignoring my husband’s stare. Ignoring the fact he has blood on his knuckles. Ignoring his black T-shirt, clinging to his hard, lean frame. His black pants, hugging his thighs. “You fucking let her?” I ask Maverick again, taking another step back, until I’m up against the screen that wraps around this porch.
I see the guard shift on his feet beyond the door, dressed all in black with a gun on his hip, but he doesn’t dare look at me.
“Look, Angel, you left—”
“You fucking let her fuck my husband?” My mouth drops open as I finally turn to Lucifer. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears. My skin itches, uncomfortable. I want to be sick. I want to fucking vomit, but for once, my stomach seems made of lead. Unshakeable.
Instead, it’s just my mind that’s all fucked up.
“Who didn’t you fuck?” I ask my husband, his deep blue eyes on mine. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t scowl. Doesn’t do a fucking except stare at me. I take in the circles under his eyes. His long, thick lashes. His pale face, ashen under these lights. “Who didn’t you put your dick in, you stupid fucking asshole!” I scream the last words, running my hands over my face. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I feel like I’d rather be dead than deal with this. “Why didn’t you let me stay with him?” I finally ask. “You went to Julie’s with fucking Ophelia?” I spit her name out like a curse. “Why’d you come after me at all?”
He still says nothing. Maverick moves to Ella’s side, wraps his arm around her shoulder and spins her around, toward the door.
“Fucking coward,” I mutter to Mav.
He stills, the muscles in his back flexing under his white T-shirt. Then he turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Says the girl who’s always fucking running. Don’t be a bitch about shit you do, too, Angel.” Then he yanks open the door and pushes Ella inside, slamming the door closed, the screen door following afterward.
I don’t want to be out here with Lucifer. And I know the guard is listening.
I don’t want to be here.
“Fuck this shit,” I mutter, wanting to dart behind him, into that house, disappear into the guest room I’ve been staying in. Disappear into my own head. Lose my mind in peace.
I take a step toward him, but he moves to block the door.
I knew he wouldn’t make this easy. He never does.
“Lucifer,” I whisper, “I don’t want to talk to you.”
His crosses one arm over his body, hand on his elbow, his fingers under his chin. “When’s the last time you ate, baby girl?” he asks me quietly, as if I didn’t just find out he fucked a third girl.
I gape at him, words escaping me at his stupidity.
A slow smile curves his beautiful mouth. “I know you’re shit at cooking, but I assume Ella has been making enough to feed a small army, so—”
“You really fucked her.” It’s not a question. The three of them basically confirmed it. What surprises me most, I think, isn’t even that they did it. They’re sick fucks.
What surprises me is that…it hurts.
Ella. Julie. Ophelia. It fucking…hurts.
He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t make to move toward me. To comfort me. Not that I’d want his filthy hands on me.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll have more kids not to give a shit about?” I snarl, placing a hand on my low belly and forcing myself not to think about the still-healing wound Jeremiah carved into my skin.
