“Just open the door. Now.”
“What? So I can welcome you inside for a sleep-over and we can paint each other’s nails?” I snorted. “I don’t think so, Jasmine. You’re a traitor to your brothers—a snake just like your grandmother.” Filling my voice with venom, I spat, “You’re just like them, and I want nothing to do with you.”
“You have no choice. Let me in the damn room.”
He’s dead because of you. He’s dead because he loved you.
My teeth clamped together. God, if she were in front of me, I’d stab her through her heartless chest.
“Piss off.”
“Let me in.”
“No chance. The next time we see each other, it’s not going to end well. I suggest you get out of my sight.”
Jasmine punched the door or rammed it with her chair—the noise signalled rapidly fraying anger. “Ah, fuck, what did he ever see in you?!” She bumped against the door again, lowering her voice. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t talk with betrayers.”
“You want me to get someone to help? ‘Cause I will. And you won’t like the consequences.”
My hand rose, the light from my side lamps kissing the blade with promise. “Do whatever you want, but I assure you it’ll be you who doesn’t like the—”
“Fine!”
Silence fell.
Animosity throbbed, slowly settling the longer we remained quiet.
Finally, a small whisper met my ears. “Just give me two minutes. Just listen. Can you do that? Or is that asking too much?”
I paused.
Two minutes was nothing in a lifetime. But two minutes to me was too high a cost. I existed on borrowed time.
“Why should I?” I drifted closer to the door despite myself.
“Because...it’s important.”
The genuine honesty in her voice dragged me forward. She sounded more real and true in that one microsecond than she had all afternoon.
Leaning around the dresser, I looked through the crack.
Not much was visible, but Jasmine’s face glowed in the dark corridor. Red-rimmed eyes, sad-bitten lips, and sorrow-dusted cheeks—she didn’t look well.
In fact, she looked ten years older than when I’d seen her at the meeting. Almost as if the past few hours had drained her of everything.
I wanted to slap myself.
Don’t believe it!
It was all an act. The perfect con-artist making me trust her because she looked so undone.
“It won’t work, you know.” I scowled. “I’m not buying into your sad sister act. Not after what you’ve done.”
Jasmine looked up, her face haggard. “I know you hate me. I feel it. But you have to put that aside and listen to me.”
If the door didn’t separate us, I’d wring her neck and throttle whatever conniving words she wanted to spout. “I don’t have to do anything.”
