Page 181 of Like Grim Death: Part One
“It seems like all of ours did. Like we gravitate together because of it, the pain. The betrayal from people who were supposed to be there for us more than anyone in the world. It’s the worst kind of hurt to any child.”
I bite my bottom lip, then close my eyes. I try not to think of Mom, her boyfriends, Shane.
“When I imagine Rain, caught up in any of that…” The steel in her voice wavers.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, thrown by her confession, to me, of all people. I know she killed last night to protect Lucifer. I know she’d do the same for Rain. Worse, probably.
“It makes me feel absolutely fucking murderous.”
I pop open my eyes and turn my head because her voice is so much closer, despite the fact it’s a low growl.
She’s a foot from me, staring up at me with quicksilver eyes, her pupils big, almost blotting out the color.
“I would never hurt—”
“I’m not talking aboutyou,Ella,” she whispers, her arms still folded over her chest in defiance or protection or anger. “Didn’t you pay attention last night? Something ishappeningto our boys.”
I swallow, feeling a prick of warmth with the fact she referred to them asours.I always feel like she thinks she has a different sort of claim on Mavy, agreaterhold. And sometimes I believe… she’s right.
“Something is happening to my husband, and that means Rain isn’t far behind the danger. They were too close last night. If you know anything at all, I want to hear it.” She searches my gaze, then adds,“Please.”And from Sid Malikova, it doesn’t sound like a plea at all.
I want to tell her about my meeting with Lucifer. The horrors I’ve endured at his command. I want to confess, but I know I can’t. It’s not just me joining the family that’s at stake.
It’s the very thing Sid is worried about.
“I don’t… I don’t know anything,” I manage to get out, looking her dead in the eye as I do. I shake my head once. “Mavy almost never tells me anything. He keeps me in the fucking dark. I barely know why everything went down the way it did last night.” I’m surprised the real, hidden anger breaks through my voice, and Sid blinks, like she’s surprised too. “Why are you asking me this though?” I nod toward the papers crumpled in her fist. “Did you find something? What do you think is going on?”
I think she won’t tell me. She drops her gaze and backs up a step, as if she’s deflating. Her shoulders curve inward and she looks defeated. I don’t know why, but I feel a flickering guilt that I should justtell her.
But before I can get us all into more darkness, she asks, “What do you know about Samson?”
I think of Atlas outside my window last night, or early this morning. The urgency in his texts. My breath catches in my throat.What did he find out? Who was at The Madilyn?
“Nothing,” I tell her honestly. “Except he died and no one knows why.”
She sighs, and when she speaks again, it’s like it’s a memorization of something she’s read. Even her eyes flicker closed, as if she’s reading the words from inside her brain. “Samson Savage was known in his small circle for raging conspiracy theories and rants about the government, politics, police.” She pops open her eyes and searches mine, taking a step back and leaning against the wall opposite me. I realize for the first time she’s in bare feet. I wonder where she told Lucifer she was going when she slipped away from him. I wonder why she camehere.
“His social media accounts were shut down when he was first declared missing, but I found… something—the same place I found that out—that has reposted some of his stuff.”
She glances down at the folded papers in her fist. I follow her gaze and see her wedding rings, a black diamond and a black band lined with smaller diamonds.
Slowly, she unfolds her arms and, with one last glance at the papers, she holds them out to me. All I can see is the white pages and printed ink on the other side, but I can’t make out anything else.
Holding my breath, I reach for them, taking them gingerly in my hands as she lets go.
With one last glance at her, I unfold the sheets.
It’s like a photocopy of a newspaper, in black and white.
I see the wordsAlexandria Cultsplashed across the first page. It’s like a tabloid, something not to be taken seriously judging by the quick flash of headlines I scan my eyes over.
Hamilton Sr. Embraces Fifth New Bride
Medici Murders?!
Mysterious Renovations Downtown At Suicide Site of Mob Boss
I shuffle the papers to the second page, and it looks like screenshots of a social media account, the different shots stacked on top of each other to fit multiple ones on the page. No news headlines, just grainy photos of psychedelic art and sprawling captions, unpunctuated.
