Page 60 of Queen of Nothing

A man splays his hand on the door—and pushes it open. It leads directly to the stairwell.

I watch him go inside.

I see the back of his coat, the heels of his shoes, and I know who that man is.

Father.

My insides drop.

My lips part—and I don’t know why, if I mean to say something, call out to him, or just let a serrated exhale escape me.

But before anything more can happen, a hand slaps onto my mouth and silences me.

It’s a split second of chaos and fright.

The air flings around me, and I’m yanked back, right into what feels like a brick wall, but could be a chest, and that hand crushes against my mouth even firmer—until I’m locked in place, trapped in this man’s arm looped around my midsection.

Then my boots are skidding and scuffing all over the floor.

Sal is silent, a statue clinging to me, but my own throat thrums with a muffled cry.

The man slams us into a door.

He hauls me through it—and the echo of a stairwell bounces around us. It’s a whirl of noise and faded paint as I’m shoved against the wall.

And my heart stills in my chest.

The whole world goes quiet.

I stare at the bewildered, flushed face of my brother, just inches from mine.

The sharp green of his eyes has darkened in the poorly lit stairwell, but the pinch of his brows is nothing short of worried.

Hands firm on my shoulders, he looks at me, sweeping his gaze around my face, seeing a complete illusion, one that should be fading in a couple of hours.

But there are no cracks on the mask yet.

Still, he recognises me.

“Liv.” Oliver’s voice is soft, a whisper, and his hand leaves my shoulder to cup my cheek. “It’s really you.”

I blink, surprised—

Then Sal peels his face away from my clavicle.

I tighten my arms around him, but Sal still turns around and looks right at Oliver. He blinks, then looks up at me. “Game?”

My breath comes out in a shudder.

I bring my hand up to the back of Sal’s head, and add pressure, enough to force his face back into hiding.

“We’re still playing,” I say, soft, but it doesn’t matter how quietly I answer him, because Oliver is right there.

His hand slips away from my cheek, and he looks down at Sal.

A frown wrinkles his brow. “Is that boy mine?”

I shake my head. Numb. Rigid. Silent.