I grinned. “I’m just a regular breaker of hearts and arms.” I imagined loving Tempest would be akin to loving a cactus.
"That’s rude.”
"Oh, shit! Did I say that out loud?”
“Asshole.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.” She hesitated. “But really, you don’t feel sick or anything?”
I frowned. “No, I really don’t.”
“Good.” She clutched her black designer purse between her fingers until they turned white. “That’s really good.”
I stared at her hands then back up at her. “Yes, that’s what I’m feeling all over, my body good while you sit there and twitch with your purse like you’re thanking the universe I said I was fine.”
“I don’t like deaths hanging over my head.”
“Same?” I frowned. “Sometimes? Whatever, let’s get in there. I’ll remember not to make direct eye contact lest he set my ass on fire.”
She rolled her eyes. "Be polite or I'll tell him you blindfolded me and tied me up before taking my virginity.”
I burst out laughing. Wow. “Can’t steal something you threw at your freshman boyfriend after Homecoming, Tempest.”
She froze, her hand on the door. “Who told you?—”
She sighed, and I was once again reminded of the person I used to be with—used to kiss—used to love—used to think I was going to end up with.
Her twin.
“Right.” She found her voice. “Raven needs to learn how to keep secrets.”
Calling the kettle black but whatever. I got out of the car and started walking toward the door.
She followed and walked up to my side. “Just be nice, I know he’s a lot, but he’s still my dad. You don’t have to love him, but respect him.”
I almost tripped.
Respect?
Where was his when I asked to see him all those years ago?
When I begged for answers?
Where was the respect when everything was conveniently buried beneath names with too much power and money to follow? Gone.
I’d lost respect for anyone who lorded their power over me the day my little brother was murdered—the day I had to shoot my twin in the head—I’ve done nothing but lose consecutively for years.
Never again.
I'd rather drink more Vescovi poison.
"Copy,” I whispered, sliding my fingers into my pocket. They closed around the threadbare scrap of fabric. It was blue, it matched the cape from his superhero bear. I carried it with me; it was more important than any of my weapons because it reminded me why I had them in the first place.
Vengeance.
On his behalf.
He no longer had a voice, a body—I would be both.
And when all was said and done, I would be the judge, jury, and executioner if he was guilty—and if he was…
