“Stop talking.” I stepped farther into the room, arms still crossed defensively. “Please. I’m begging you. Stop.”
She made a show of zipping her lips, but her eyes were dancing with amusement.
I took a breath, changing the subject before she could traumatize me further. “Did you enjoy the food, and for the love of God, don’t make it sexual.”
She tossed the knife casually in the air and caught it by the handle without looking. The blade spun perfectly, landing in her palm. “It was tasty. Highly recommend. What about you? Did you enjoy your first night out with friends?”
Going to the table, I ran a finger down the hilt of a blade. “Yeah. It was…insightful. Did you worry about me?”
Her eyes flicked toward me, knowing and a little too perceptive. “I always worry about you but not for the reasons you think.”
A part of me wanted to tell Mom about the missing girls, but another voice, just slightly louder, said not yet. I wasn’t ready to give up this life, not when I was starting to feel like it could be home. “We had fun. Paisley brought a friend, and they took me to this Italian restaurant.”
“Riveting. No parties? No boys?” She set the knife down and picked up another one, testing its balance.
“Give me another week or two, and I’ll be fully embracing the teenage experience, drugs and all.”
Her lips twitched as she wiped at her brow. “How did I get such a cynical daughter?”
Turning around, I braced against the table, my lips curving. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“You’re good at using sarcasm to cover up when something is bothering you. You get this look. Right here.” She tapped between her eyebrows. “A little crease that gives you away every time. What’s on your mind, Malibu?”
Shit.Reading people was like Mom’s superpower, next to killing without leaving a trace of evidence. It’s how she had beenable to get away with it for so many years. She was careful, methodical, and rarely made mistakes. “Nothing’s wrong,” I said, but even I didn’t believe it.
She smiled like she could hear the lie as clearly as I could. “Okay.” She moved back to the target, throwing the knife without preamble. Another perfect hit, just left of center this time. “So, when do I get to meet these new friends of yours?”
I plucked one of her spare knives off the table, passing it from hand to hand. “Let’s wait to see if they stick around,” I said, testing the grip, feeling how the handle sat in my palm.
She watched my hand, eyes narrowing slightly. “Looser wrist. You’re holding it too tight.”
“I’m not?—”
“You’re stiff,” she interrupted.
I adjusted my grip, relaxing my fingers slightly.
“Emotionally stiff,” she corrected, a hint of a smile in her voice.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.
“Don’t doubt yourself.” She moved to stand beside me, not touching but close enough that I felt her presence. Her instructor mode. “Everyone will love you. How can they not?”
If it were only that simple, then Maddox would be falling at my feet. “You’re required to say shit like that to me.”
Her smile softened a fraction, warmth glimmering in her expression. “Maybe, but it doesn’t make it any less true.” She stepped nearer, beginning to circle me slowly, not threatening but assessing. “And if they don’t like you for who you are, they don’t deserve to be your friend.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s only complicated if you make it.” She completed the circle, coming to a stop in front of me. “You don’t adjust yourselfto fit someone else’s expectations. They either rise to meet you or they don’t deserve your time.”
I turned the knife over in my hand, watching the light catch the blade. “That’s a very Mara Hales philosophy.”
“It’s kept us alive,” she said simply.
“It’s also resulted in multiple deaths.”
“Only of people who proved they didn’t deserve to keep breathing. There’s a difference.”
