Page 39 of Iris' Lying Eyes

Shrugging, he gazes at me in the moonlight, and I struggle to understand his expression. Is he angry? Disgusted? What?

“Well?” I demand. Some part of me is desperate to hear him say no because otherwise, keeping the information from him was a tragic mistake.

I can’t survive any more of those.

“I don’t know, Iris. I can’t say what I would have done back then.”

“Right,” I whisper, dropping to the pillow.

When he doesn’t speak again, I say quietly, “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know if she was yours.”

He shuffles, and I sniffle as he says, “Then how do you know she was?”

“Because nothing that beautiful could have been John’s,” I say and turn away, staring at the wall.

We don’t speak again, and when I fall asleep, it’s to the past I can’t escape.

I blame the darkness that always consumes me and fight the memories I hide away in the light of day.

When I wake, it’s with a silent cry that grabs my chest. I can’t breathe for the loss choking my throat, and blindly, I stare at my arm, where the ink covers the scars of my misdeeds.

Tears form in my eyes, slipping past my lids unbidden, and I cover my mouth to stifle the sobs. How did I get here?

I’m a mother without a child. An addict one step away from my next fix. A liar. A murderer, if you want to get technical about it.

“Hey,” Bastion says, and I jump, turning my face away.

The darkness may hide my expression, but I can’t contain my trembling form when he grabs me and pulls me against his chest. And I exhale quietly to quell the emotion stinging my lungs, only to sniffle when he strokes his hand down my back and rasps, “Sleep, baby.”

The words aren’t special, but they soothe me, and with a yawn, I press my cheek against his warm skin and close my eyes.

The last thing I see before I pass into slumber is my baby’s sweet face when she opened her eyes and looked at me.

∞∞∞

The following few days, I see little of Bastion, leading me to wonder if he’s avoiding me. It should be good news, but it presses at my chest, reminding me to keep the parts I don’t want free behind my loose damn lips.

Thankfully, Roman stays away too, but I remember his hateful look and remain appropriately cautious.

I texted my mark like a good little grunt, and the fucker responded with threats and rage. No surprise. His empire will crumble if he doesn’t pay the pied piper.

I’m uneasy, though. Even I know messing with a man of his status is stupid. He could hurt me in so many ways, and with my betrayal, John isn’t going to step up to save the day.

The irony doesn’t escape me.

However, with that out of the way, I am bored out of my skull. Too much time leads to trouble, and I’m not exactly provided with much in the way of entertainment.

After two hours of lying in bed and watching mindless television, I click it off and stand.

Fuck this. I’ll find something to do.

An hour later, I’m showered and dressed. My long hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I’m rocking a pair of skinny jeans and a tight top. The only thing missing is makeup, and I make a mental note to order something online if I can’t get to a damn store.

My new clothes, courtesy of Mrs. O’Keefe, were delivered, and I’m salivating over my options for shoes when the air displaces around me.

Turning to Bastion, standing with his typical broody stare, I settle on a cute pair of siren red pumps and grab them up, saying, “What?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

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