63. Tess
TESS
Revenge? For what?
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the card.
Whatever it meant, I didn’t like the sound of it. Was I supposed to take revenge on my three captors? They’d left me in their dust in the group home, lied to me here. There was plenty of betrayal there.
Getting revenge on Cyrus didn’t sound half bad after the way she’d treated me over the last few months.
But these two? My chest hurt at the thought.
In all reality, I had no interest in hurting any of them. Even Cyrus. It was fun to fuck with her, to make her feel a little guilty for how she’d behaved toward me.
Revenge was something else. A dangerous beast it was to play karma.
Blade was sitting up now, her hands intertwined over her lap as she watched me closer. Her shaggy, blonde curls covered part of her face. Perched on the edge of the couch, Nash couldn’t look away from the cards.
If the Three of Swords meant something so terrible, why would each of them have the symbol branded onto their skin?
Space. I needed space to think.
Just as I pressed my palms into the wood coffee table to stand, the front door swung open.
Cyrus stood in the doorway, rain dripping from her jacket.
Her boots were heavy as she waltzed into the apartment. Her dark eyes caught on the deck of cards, the spread making it obvious what we’d been doing. “Idiots. Those aren’t for playing around. It’s sacred.”
Her voice grew more vitriolic with each word.
“Chill, dude. We weren’t joking.” Blade rolled her eyes. “Tess wanted a real reading.”
That intrigued the brute, Cyrus crossing the loft in a few strides — her wet boots leaving prints on the polished concrete.
Her eyes locked on the Three of Swords. A sinister smile crept onto her face, lifting the corners of her lips as words slipped from her lips. “That’s fitting, isn’t it?”
A shiver ran down my spine. Maybe it was just the rush of cool air that came in with Cyrus. Or maybe it was the way her pitch-black eyes suddenly looked hungry for more.
I wasn’t going to let her get under my skin, not that easy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cyrus moved closer, drying her boots on the shag carpet and coming to a stop just centimeters from me.
Refusing to look up at her, I kept my eyes forward.
Her voice was hardly more than a growl. “Don’t worry, Ragdoll. The time is approaching. Even the cards believe it.”
Rolling my eyes, I laughed. “Okay, fucking freak. All you do is speak in riddles. It’s tired.”
Kneeling down, Cyrus grabbed my chin and forced my eyes to hers. Blade and Nash stood alert, watching their friend to make sure she didn’t push too far.
But Cyrus’ grip tightened on my jaw as she loomed over me. “I’ll catch my prey on this hunt. Then you’ll understand. The lies will end.”
Before the other two could tell her to stop, Cyrus released her grip on my chin and flicked my head away as she stood.
I tried to hide how it hurt, how her fingertips had burned into my flesh. And that I had liked it.
Cyrus leaned over the coffee table, grabbed the top card on the Tarot deck and threw it down on the table without so much as a glance.
A pit grew in my stomach.
Death.
An armor-clad, skeletal knight paraded a white horse and a black flag. A funeral march.
My eyes flicked to Nash, who couldn’t tear her gaze from the pulled card.
“What the fuck does that mean?”