Chapter 2
KIT
“That’s not my name, Kitty Kat, and you know it,” she deadpans, and fuck, Bell Bishop is a sight for sore eyes. Not that I’d ever admit that to her. She’d probably slit my throat just for trying to be nice.
She looks… different. Definitely not the same kid I knew a couple of years ago.
“Belladonna is fitting though. Right?” I wag my brows knowingly, and if she were anyone else, like my ex-psychotic-wife for example, she’d get angry. Maybe even throw a fit.
But no. Not Bell Bishop. This chick is a different kind of crazy, and she soaks in insults like they are fucking compliments.
“You been reading my files again, Kitty?”
My smirk falls away at her words. “How many fucking times do I have to remind you to call me Kit or Kitson?”
She shrugs. “It’s a waste of breath. Just like Belladonna is fitting for me, Kitty is fitting for you… since you are such a pussy.” She pops the ‘p’ and her hand whips out, and before I know what’s happening, she shoves me.
I stumble back, watching as she grabs the handle of her suitcase, and strolls into my house like she fucking belongs here.
“Where’s Libi?” she asks, leaving me staring blankly for a moment at how fucking good she looks.
The goth girl she wore like armour as a teen is gone, and in its place is something more… fuck. Hot. Sexy. Fucking tempting.
She stops in her tracks the moment she spots the chaos in the living room, and her eyes, normally hard, flick back to me with concern in them.
“What happened?”
“Rhonda,” I mutter as I step closer, my eyes tracking the black inked vines and red flowers that paint her décolletage, trailing up her neck to finish just under her jaw, and across to her shoulders, weaving down her upper arms.
Her dark lashes aren’t painted with thick mascara like she used to wear, but she doesn’t even need it since the long fan of them are pitch black as it is.
Her brown eyes look more like whiskey than chocolate in this light, accentuated with a brush of black liner, and her midnight hair, which used to be long, sits just on her shoulders in messy waves, some of it pulled into a loose ponytail on each side, with the rest down at the back, some loose strands framing her face.
That, and the way the black dress with little red flowers clings to her slender curves, is distracting enough, but then there are those fucking lips.
Fuuuck. They’re a dusty rose colour, plump, but not the fake kind of plump, and fuck, they look so soft and—
“When you’re done ogling, can you tell me where Libi is?”
Her words are like a bucket of ice, and I fucking stagger back a step, shaking my head to clear my fucking thoughts.
Fuck’s sake, man. Get a grip!
“She’s over in the corner, near the tree,” I mutter, nodding my head in that direction, and for a long moment, Bell stares at me, tilting her head to the side in that creepy way of hers.
It makes me squirm. It’s like she’s trying to peer into my soul. To see all of my dark depraved secrets. The good and the bad. And fuck. There are so many bad ones.
“Where’s your shirt?” she asks, surprising me.
“On the couch.”
“And why isn’t it on?” She quirks a single dark brow.
“Rhonda tore the fuck out of it.”
She gives me a single nod before turning away from me and abandoning her suitcase to step into the living room.
Her eyes track over everything, like she’s memorising every detail, and it’s only now that I notice the blaring music is still flowing from the TV that is half hanging off the wall.
Stepping over some broken glass and splinters of wood from the picture frame Rhonda threw around in her hissy fit, Bell rounds the couch and stills the moment her eyes land on Libi.
Shit. I don’t even know what to do. My little girl is inconsolable right now.
“Turn that shit off,” Bell snarls over her shoulder at me.
I want to tell her not to fucking order me around, but then I see the way Libi is tucked against the wall, rocking herself with her hands over her ears.
Shit. I should’ve known this would induce an episode.
I hurry to find the remote, but it’s nowhere in sight, so I step over more broken glass and flick off the power point, shutting the Christmas carols off instantly.
“Lights,” Bell says in a hushed tone, and I meet her gaze. “Can you dim them or turn them off?”
I nod, moving to the dimmer switch, and lower the brightness, my eyes finding hers until she nods.
With the soft glow settling over the room, I want to kick myself for not fucking acting sooner to help Libi. She prefers lower lighting. Especially when she’s stressed. Same with loud noises.
Fuck it! My head isn’t in the right fucking place right now.
Fucking Rhonda!
“Hey, Libs.” Bell’s voice takes on a soft tone, unlike I’ve ever heard from her, and shit… does this woman who was voted Most Likely to Become a Serial Killer by her peers at school, actually have a soul?
Lowering to the floor next to my daughter, Bell positions herself similarly to Libi, gaining her attention, and my daughter slowly stops rocking, her tiny hands falling from her ears.
“Bell?”
Her voice is so fucking soft, her big blue eyes locking with Bell’s in wonder.
Fuck. They are so similar. Bell and Libi almost look like mother and daughter with the same dark hair, big eyes, although a different shade, and well, they have similar mannerisms. I’ve tried to ignore how similar they are in personality.
The quirkiness. The bluntness. The like of all things dark and creepy.
Sometimes I think my daughter was born in a horror movie. Sure, she likes dolls, but only if they can wear black clothes with skulls on them.
Shit. That reminds me of why Rhonda flipped the fuck out.
The Christmas tree.
“Hi, Libi,” Bell coos quietly. “I thought I’d come and annoy your dad for Christmas. Is that okay with you?”
Libi giggles and nods. “Yes. You annoy him a lot.”
I stiffen, but not because of what Libi said. It’s because Bell’s lips kick up in a fucking smile. Not the quirk of the lips she gifted me at the front door before, but this smile… I’ve never seen her smile like that.
It’s broad, and she actually looks… happy.
“I know.” Bell bops Libi on the nose, and my little girl giggles again. “Annoying your dad is so much fun.”
Libi’s joy is short-lived as she glances over her shoulder at the Christmas tree strewn over on its side, her smile falling away.
“Hey, what’s the frown for?” Bell asks, drawing my daughter’s attention again, and her big eyes peer up at Bell with so much trust in them.
It may have been a few years since I’ve seen Bell, but it’s only been a few months since Libi has seen her.
They usually catch up every time Tillie takes my daughter for a weekend so I can have a little break, but Bell and I deliberately avoid running into each other, so I haven’t seen her in… well… years.
On my part, it’s mainly so I don’t lose my shit in front of Libi since Bell knows how to push my fucking buttons. I assume Bell’s reason is the same.
We just don’t play well.
“The tree is ruined,” Libi says softly, tears welling in her beautiful blue eyes.
“We can fix it. Or get a new one,” Bell offers, and shit, Libi’s eyes go round in excitement despite the big fat tears popping from them.
“We can get a new one?” she asks before she looks excitedly around for me. “Can we, Daddy? Please, can we get the one I want? Pleeeease.”
Sighing, I rake my hand through my hair knowing this won’t go down well with Rhonda, but since she’s just been carted to lockup for the night, and this is my fucking house, not Rhonda’s, I guess we can get the tree that started all of this.
“Sure, Libs. We’ll go first thing in the morning and get it.”
Libi goes still, and for a moment, I think my little dark angel has stopped breathing, but then she bursts up from the floor, climbing over the couch like it’s Mount Everest, and throws herself into my arms.
“Thank you, Daddy! Thank you!”
I wrap my arms around my little girl, squeezing her tight as she clings to me like I’m her whole world, and my eyes meet Bell’s as she stands.
‘Thank you,’ I mouth, and I expect a nod or something. But instead, Bell’s dark eyes remain locked on mine as she rounds the couch and saunters past me, her voice low.
“You can thank me later.”
Fuck… why does that sound like an invitation?