Chapter 15
Piper
“No,” I lash out at last.
I know Damien is lying, he must be. That or he’s got it all wrong. And yet, tears start to prick at my eyes, wondering if any part of what he’s just said could be true.
It’s absurd, and yet, as he stares straight at me, I can at least tell he’s not lying.
That is, I think I can tell, because I am clearly not great at the whole knowing-who-to-trust thing.
And yet, no one’s ever looked more believable than the guy who, up until now, has made no secret of the fact that he was planning to kill me.
If I’m really who he says I am… then why the hell does he want to kill me?
Instead of voicing that thought, I insist feebly, “My parents are Laura and William Day.”
Damien turns back to Logan, hissing in annoyance. “Does your daughter even have a single fucking brain cell?”
“For someone so intent on her not knowing anything, you’re sure telling her a whole fucking lot,” grumbles Logan.
“I thought it was only a matter of time before she figured it out,” snaps back Damien, “once she heard the name Lia. I wasn’t aware she was so stupid.”
It’s Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. But even though I should be seething at Damien’s insult, I’m too busy still trying to wrap my head around his words.
It makes no sense. It makes no fucking sense.
And yet…
Little pinpricks of doubt form in my head, in the same way that they did when Officer Jones told me about my mom’s cancer.
Impossible. And yet, in a weird, unsettling way… it does answer some questions.
I’m suddenly thinking about how I can’t remember ever seeing a picture of myself as a baby.
I never thought about it, but isn’t that the kind of thing parents usually keep?
The earliest pictures I’ve seen were of me as a toddler.
Still, I read somewhere that your earliest memories start at four. So… shouldn’t I remember my life if my early years were spent with other people?
Now that I think of it, I suddenly have weird hazy memories of someone singing softly to me. Of cozying up in someone’s lap as that very same someone read me a story. At feeling curls brush against my cheek.
But are they real, buried memories that have burst through with Damien’s revelation? Or false, suggested ones that my brain is hurriedly forming to try to make sense of what the Devil founders are saying?
My parents don’t look much like me. Neither had glasses nor red hair. But I mean, lots of kids don’t look like their parents. So what?
Though I’m vaguely aware red hair is a recessive gene. And my eyesight being so wonky is kind of weird since my parents have perfect vision.
And yet, I do have a birth certificate, and a passport. When you read novels with kids who find out they’re adopted, that’s usually one of the signs.
All my papers are fully in order.
At the same time, if a Devil founder really is my stepfather, I’m sure getting that kind of paperwork fudged is all in a day’s work.
I hate myself for allowing Damien’s words to creep into my mind and stay there. As though I’m accepting it.
It’s not true. It’s not fucking true!
I loved my parents. Including my mom, no matter how unlovable it felt like she was at times. There’s just no fucking way Damien’s right!
“You’re lying,” I mutter.
Damien glares at Logan in annoyance. “I’m starting to question my decision not to kill her.”
I inhale sharply, but Logan merely rolls his eyes yet again. “Don’t tease her right now. She’s been through a lot.”
“Fine.” Damien turns back to me, sighing heavily. “Laura and William Day are your adoptive parents. I know that, because I was there when Logan handed you to Laura.”
I stare at him in shock, my mouth so open it’s a wonder my jaw doesn’t come unhinged. Then I snap it shut abruptly.
“Then why the f—” I bite down on that swear word as I realize he’s glowering at me, “were you trying to kill me?”
“I didn’t try,” he says. “I’m Damien motherfucking Wells. If I were trying to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
I stare at him in confusion. “So all this time… I don’t understand. The others said… they said you wanted to be the one to put a bullet in my brain!”
“I might have mentioned it,” he concedes.
“Come on, Damien,” grunts Logan. “Even I thought that you were planning to kill her. Why would I have gone behind your back otherwise?”
“Oh, so you did go behind my back?”
“Stop messing with me.” Logan blows out an exasperated breath through his nose. “You fucking know I did. You just told me so. Or was this all a test? Didn’t realize the Devil CEO was just a fucking immature girlfriend who tests me.”
“Fuck off,” growls Damien. “Maybe I did say in passing we should kill her. And yes, I did smell the bullshit the minute you told me she was missing. It took me exactly thirty seconds to figure out she was staying at the Astley hotel, and then she went straight back to her family home. And I still didn’t bring her in, did I? That was all your doing.”
“Uhm, no,” I cut in. “That was my doing. My friend and I stole visitor badges and—”
“It was my doing,” Logan confirms to Damien, both of them back to exasperatingly ignoring me.
“I mean, it was easy. As soon as I saw her in the building, I made sure the visitor badges gave her full access. Even knowing you had a vague desire to kill her, I still figured it was safer for her inside Devil Tower than out.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes so hard they ache. The only people hurting me, or trying to hurt me, are the Devil founders and the guys they sent after me! What does Logan mean, safer?
“It would have been even safer in fucking Oregon,” adds the latter, “but so much for that. Her idiot boyfriend, what’s his name—”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say hotly. “And he’s not an idiot either!”
Both of them slowly turn their faces back to me, as if I’m the most annoying person on the planet. Though Logan has the shadow of a smile on his face as his eyes meet mine.
“Both false statements,” he declares. “Anyway. Enough chit-chat. Let me go get you the first-aid kit. Too bad Damien killed that asshole—Tony. I would’ve liked a word with him. In a manner of speaking.”
Spewing out a string of curse-words that make my swearing sound tame, he stalks off to the bathroom, before bringing back some gauze and antiseptic. He grabs a chair, sits right in front of me, and begins to dab at my wounds with cotton.
“Does it hurt?” he asks when I wince.
Yes. But that’s not why I’m wincing.
It’s weird to be sitting just inches away from him. Even with my shitty eyesight, I can’t help but notice the soft look in his eyes while he gently treats my wounds.
It’s not the kind of soft look I’d ever imagine could belong to one of the power-hungry Devils.
“Better?” he asks, his voice even softer than his eyes.
I swallow and nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Even Damien seems kind of unsettled at Logan’s expression, looking resolutely away as his friend finishes treating me. Probably wondering when he turned into such mush.
I can’t help but begin to believe their words, even though the thought of my parents not being my birth parents feels impossible.
But the way Logan is looking at me right now… it’s as though I mean something to him.
Not that I come first. I couldn’t possibly come first to Logan Colt, of all people.
And yet…
“Did you love her a lot?”
“Huh?”
He startles at my words, appearing to emerge from a daze, as I repeat my question. “Did you love her a lot? Lia, I mean?”
The name of the woman who’s apparently my real mom feels odd on my tongue.
There’s a long pause, and then Logan nods. “I did,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. Then he snaps shut the box containing the antiseptic. “You look like her. She had that same crazy red hair. Her dad was Italian, but her mom was Irish. She got the red hair from her.”
“Did she wear glasses too?” I say, blinking my eyes with the strain of trying to see without them.
“She wore contact lenses,” says Logan with a tight smile. “She used to fall asleep wearing them, and I’d have to take them out for her. Which reminds me, I need to go get you some new glasses.”
“I’ll go,” I volunteer quickly, because no matter how much I want to trust them… well, up until about seven minutes ago, I was convinced Damien, at the very least, was going to kill me. And he didn’t exactly deny it.
Damien now laughs out loud. “Yeah, right. Logan, I trust you not to let that girl out of your sight.”
“Don’t worry.” Logan jingles his key. “Now, Piper, I don’t want you to think you’re a prisoner. But, uh, I am going to lock you inside this apartment and limit visits to, well…, just myself. Got it?”
“No!” I stand up, huffing. I guess my freeze response is gone, and so is the shock, because I suddenly realize this entire thing makes no fucking sense. “I was hiding so Damien wouldn’t kill me. Now he’s got me, and he’s still not killing me. So enough with this stupid shit, and let me fucking go!”
“You should wash her mouth out with soap,” suggests Damien. “Is that still a thing parents do these days?”
Logan flattens his lips to repress a laugh, then turns back to me with the air of a tolerant, to a limit, father. “Just because we’re not going to kill you, doesn’t mean you’re not still in danger.”
“From what? A fucking soap washing?” I ask in angry confusion. “I don’t get it! I don’t get any of this! Let me go, I won’t swear again. You won’t hear another f-word out of my mouth. Ever. I promise.”
Mainly because I’ll be far fucking away, I add silently to myself.
They’re both back to laughing and I practically stomp with my foot with how frustrated I am. The one thing stopping me is that I do not need them to see me as any more immature than they clearly have decided I am.
“Let’s go, Logan,” orders Damien, once the laughter at my expense has died down.
“Wait!” I run to the front door, barring their path. “Do not leave me here. I swear to God, I’ll… I’ll jump!”
Damien raises an eyebrow.
“From the fourth floor?”
“Everyone keeps saying I must have a death wish. Well, maybe I fucking do!”