“I don’t know?—”
“Or how you knew he was hitting Sloane and never told me?”
My heart hammers in my ears, blood rushing so loudly I can’t focus. Not quite guilt, but something like it causes my stomach to cramp and bile to rise up my throat.
“Maeve, how?—"
“Stop,” she whispers, voice flat. “I know what he did to you. And I hated him for it.” Looking down into her mug, her lips frown. “I hated him for a lot of things, Col. I hated what he did to Sloane—how he forced you to stay silent. How he made us all hate each other.” She looks around, thinking. “He didn’t want us together because he was afraid of what we’d do as one.”
I inhale, cupping my mug, looking for stability.It makes sense.Ferguson hated women—and he loved control.
“I tried like hell to keep you all clean of this. I took the hits so you, Sloane, and Briar would never have to know this world existed. But he still touched all of us—his mark is still here, no matter what I do to clear it off.”
Finally, she looks at me, eyes unreadable. “He’sgone, Col. You don’t have to pretend for him anymore. You don’t have to do what he wants—no one is going to hurt you for beingyou.”
My mind spins, but I look away. “I’m not pretending,” I lie.
Maeve tilts her head. “You are. You’re ashamed to show those dark parts of yourself. Because Pops always wanted you to be the perfect daughter.” Her lips curl. “Perfect.Obedient. He used to flaunt it, in front of his enemies, you know. Tell them all about his perfect daughter while I sat there. Bleeding for this fucking clan.” My heart cracks, at the undercurrent of pain coming from my older sister’s mouth.
I never knew. Never thought of how my survival would affect hers.
That’s a lie. I didn’t think about it because I didn’t care.I only cared about me.
“I don’t want to be…” I trail off, voice cracking. “I can’t be?—”
“Me.” She nods, running her tongue over her lips. “You’re afraid to beme.”
I shake my head, wincing. “No, Maeve.” But it’s the truth. I see a piece of myself in my older sister. I see how she embraces the dark, lets the depravity loose and flaunts her blackened soul. I have that inside of me and although I let it out to play, I can never truly merge with it. Not like her.
“It’s alright.” Her green eyes flash with softness and I frown. “I know what the world thinks of me. I know what I am. But you? You’re too good to ever sink to my level. You’ll never be like me.”
“I would. If I didn’t…” I falter, words escaping me. “If I didn’t let what Pops did twist me. I would be that ugly monster he tried to make.”
The monster that haunts my soul, feeding off violence, blood, and carnage. The beast that Hayes saw, smiled at and asked for more. He’s the only one to do so.
Pops screwed me up, but Hayes allows me tobe.
“So?” She raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes, Col, you’ll feel more like yourself in the dark than you ever could in the light. Sometimes, you need to be a monster to survive. Andsometimes? That’s okay. Sometimes, we’re loved even for being ugly.”
My heart cracks. She doesn’t know how her words affect me. How close they are to what I want—for someone to want me, all of me, and love me regardless of the stain on my soul.
Reaching over, she gently taps my hand three times. “You’re beautiful, kid. No matter what happened. I just wish you saw what I did.”
Taking a large gulp of my burning tea, I let the heat sear my throat and ignore the emotions rolling in my gut. “I don’t feel beautiful,” I whisper.
“That’s alright too.” She soothes. “Most days, I don’t feel human. It doesn’t make you any less deserving of love. You learn to accept it as you go.”
“Is that what happened to you? To Hayes?”
She tilts her head. “When you’re in this world, for as long as we are, it either breaks you or forges you into something else. I was forged. But Hayes?” She shakes her head, smiling slightly. “Hayes rebuilt himself from it. He became something more.”
“It sounds like you admire him.”
“I do,” she agrees. “Not many people can do what he did. I assume you know who he is?”
“Yes.” I grip the mug tighter. The thought of all those horrible men touching him as a child turns my vision red, and my nails chip at the paint on the mug. Maeve looks on, calm in my maelstrom of emotions.
“Good. Then he trusts you.”
