Page 153 of Boy of Ruin
He married me.
Made sure I was his, in every fucking way. I force myself not to think about the baby. About how my world will be a little more fucked when it comes.
“She doesn’t remember any of that night, Sid.” His voice is hoarse.
I don’t give a fuck about this, but saving me from saying anything at all, Ella drops another fucking pan. I swear to God if she doesn’t—
“Pretty girl,” Mayhem says softly, but his words aren’t kind. There’s a command in them. I recognize it well. Lucifer’s used that tone with me many, many times.
“Yes, baby?” Ella replies.
Yeah. I never responded like that to any of his commands unless we were both naked. I roll my eyes, slide down on the couch and swing my legs around, so I’m on my side, hands tucked under the throw pillow.
“Could you be a little fucking quieter?” Mayhem asks in that same falsely sweet tone.
A moment of silence and I can’t see Ella from this angle, but my eyes are on my brother’s. I see a smirk pulling on his lips, and when Ella snarls back, “Do you want to bake your own fucking cookies?” I almost laugh.
That’s exactly what I would’ve said too.
Except I never tried to bake Lucifer cookies. I tried to cook though. And failed. Many, many times.
He never seemed to care. I feel something uncomfortable twisting in my chest. Something like grief.
Mayhem bites his lip, his eyes flashing. “Keep talking to me like that and I’m going to come fuck you in—”
I cough, loudly, and my brother’s eyes dart to me, then back to his girl.
“Go ahead, pretty girl,” he says, waving his hand before his attention is back on me. “I’m going to deal with my father.” It sounds like a promise, the way he says it to me.
I stare at him a second, not blinking. Trying to imagine what he’s thinking. What he feels for me. Protectiveness? Guilt? I sit up all at once. Anger makes me clench my jaw as I stare at him, my eyes narrow, both hands back in fists. “Deal with him?” I echo, my words quiet.
He grips the edge of the leather chair he’s in, the veins in his forearms stark against his golden skin. “You think I’d let him do that to you and get away with it?” he asks me in that same deadly voice he used on Ella.
I feel pressure build behind my eyes, and I’m so sick of fucking crying. “You let him get away with it for a long, long time.” My words are shaky, but I can’t stop talking anyway. “Since Sacrificium.”
“I didn’t know what he knew then, Angel. But I believe you. About Noctem.”
I glance at the coffee table between us. Think about fucking flipping it over. “That’s nice,” I tell him, not looking at him. He should’ve fucking killed him before, but now because he believes me, he wants to do something about it? As if what Maddox did to me wasn’t enough? What Lazar did to J?
“Don’t fucking act like a bitch with me, okay, I’m just trying to—”
I count to three in my head.
One.
Two.
Three.
But I’m not any fucking calmer.
I stand, flipping the fucking table.
I’m jumping over it before I can stop myself, launching toward my brother, shoving him over the side of the chair which flips behind us.
His head hits the hardwood, my hands around his throat as his dig into my shoulders.
“You don’t want to start some shit you can’t finish, Angel,” he growls, then flips me to my back.
