Page 3
“Next time you kill the nanny to protect your kid brother, plan it a bit better. There’s still blood on the carpet.”
The door shuts with a hush, and I glance over the edge of the bed. There, at the corner of my bedpost, are a few dark drops of dried blood.
Swallowing, I sit back, stomach clenching. Maeve killed. She killed my nanny.
Was it something I said? Should I cry, worry—should I tell her I overheard them?
No.
I might be young, but I know who my family is—what we do. Sloane, my older sister, likes to live in her delusions that we’re only rich, not a mob family, and Collins keeps her head down, nose in a book. But I see the marks on my oldest sister’s face, and the knives Killian carries.
Most families don’t have torture chambers in the basement.
I always knew my father wasn’t a good person. But this proves none of us are. We’re the bad guys.
But I don’t hold it against Maeve. I didn’t like Selena, and she was hurting me. My oldest sister has always been protective of us—she beat up Collins’s bullies at school, and she’s stopped Pops from hitting Sloane. If she thought this was best for me, then she was right.
Selena is dead.
I should care about that more, but I don’t feel icky as I curl back into my bed, hands under my chin. She wasn’t a good person, and she needed to go.
One day, I’ll repay my sister for protecting me. I just don’t know how.
1
BRIAR
SIX MONTHS AGO
This whiskey tastes like piss.
And that’s giving it too much credit.
I swallow another hearty gulp, gagging slightly. The alcohol sears my throat like fire, and I cough, fighting the urge to vomit.
Aged, oaky, and a burning pile of piss. But shit, it’s the only thing I’ve got beating back the New England cold.
Wiping my nose, I brace against another gust of wintry air that steals my breath. Snow swirls around my feet, dancing flakes of purity, and I scoff. There’s no purity in this cesspool.
I glance up at the bright stars, overshadowed by the revolving lights of Boston’s downtown area. The TD’s spotlights flow back and forth, and the twinkling festive string lights that should’ve been taken down are still up weeks after the holidays. Everything is cheery.
Gross.
I tip the bottle back, then toss the brown paper bag aside, bitterness on my tongue. Something breaks and there’s scurrying. I don’t care. Standing in the deserted alley, hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt, I enjoy the buzz of the booze. A pleasant numbness hums in my head, and finally, the disgusting taste drifts away.
I could go home—
No.
That’s not my home anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.
But it’s warm.
Fuck that.
Sliding out my phone, a text comes in from Ben, a distant cousin in the clan; he’s always been a real friend. He, along with my sisters, is the only one who knows and accepts me. From my crazy pursuits in the hacking world to picking up guys at dive bars, they’re the only ones who never give me a hard time.
I couldn’t tell Ferguson, my dad, that I liked women and men when I discovered this tidbit about myself at thirteen. The man would have killed me on sight. His only son—bisexual? Perish the thought.
