Chapter 28 Maeve
MAEVE
“I’m going into my—the guest room.”
I’m determined to avoid an audience for this call I have to make to my controlling overlord, so I square my shoulders, hoping they don’t argue.
“Your room,” Draven corrects gently.
I raise my chin and force a smile that I hope lands somewhere between gratitude and exasperation, but I’m pretty sure it just looks like I have a stomachache.
Not inaccurate then, since my anxiety has caused one.
“Why?” Julian whines, his mouth agape.
“Because I don’t need you all here to witness this.” I try to keep my tone light, but it comes out brittle. “Especially not you four. This energy you’re putting out is feral, and I’m sure he’ll be able to sense it.”
I doubt it, considering Adrian’s so narrow-sighted, but I don’t want the pressure of monitoring my words for their sake and Adrian’s.
One battlefield to monitor will be enough, thank you kindly.
Hadrian makes a face of mock hurt, eyes wide. “Feral? Us? I’m wounded, starlet.”
I arch an eyebrow, and let my gaze linger from his tousled curly black hair down to his sockless feet.
Ew. Absolutely vile.
“Oh, yes, I can see it now. You’re exactly how one would describe as wounded.”
Julian throws his hands up. “I’m not feral,” he protests, “they are but—”
“You’re a different kind. Like the rich kind,” I cut in, this time letting the smile reach my eyes. “The aristocracy of anarchy.” I wave him off, savouring the brief flicker of indignation on his face. “See you on the other side.”
Lucifer, undeterred, stands and blocks my path, arms folded, a posture that would be intimidating if he wasn’t him.
“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” he asks.
“I mean, I’d rather not do it at all, but yes. He needs to know, and we’ve forced me to be the one to tell him,” I say, waving at them as Lucifer moves out of my way.
The annoying tap of my shoes echoes in the silent flat because they’re nosy fuckers and want to eavesdrop.
Luckily for me, my room has been soundproofed, so they won’t be able to overhear anything.
I close my bedroom door and take a deep breath before crossing the room to sit in the armchair under the window.
My phone feels heavy in my hand, like it’s gained twenty pounds since I’ve decided to make this call. I stare at his contact, the glaring “Adrian Graves” sending a shudder down my spine.
“Grow up, Maeve. He can’t hurt you,” I mutter, giving myself the pep talk that my chameleon hasn’t bothered to do.
I tap the screen before I can talk myself out of it and press the phone to my ear. Each ring feels like a nail in my coffin, and I’m tempted to hang up before he answers.
But I’m not that lucky.
“Hello, my darling,” Helen says, and a weird feeling pools in my gut.
I don’t understand it. Usually I just feel hatred towards this woman, but now there’s a twinge of… relief? Something soft? Gratitude?
I don’t know, and I don’t want to acknowledge it.
“Hi, Helen,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice neutral. “How are you?”
Why the fuck would I ask that when I don’t fucking care? I have issues.
“I’m doing good, love. How are you? Adrian and I weren’t expecting a call. Is something wrong?”
At least she’s smart enough to understand I’d not have called her otherwise.
“Actually, yes. When isn’t it around here, really?”
She sighs. “I wish the world would ease up on you, Maeve, love. Can I help?”
“I should probably bare my soul to your mate instead. Unless he’s died, then no need.”
Her laugh is twinkling and full of light.
Fuck me.
She’s so desperate to be my friend—to be someone I lean on. Does she think I forgot about her reminder to Adrian about forcing me to trust them from literal days ago?
Because I haven’t.
“No, he’s alive and well,” she says with a touch of humour. “Just left his phone charging with me whilst at a meeting. Let me grab him for you. How are the boys?”
“Also alive—unfortunately,” I say cheerily. “Then again, Hadrian might take Julian out for me if they continue living together.”
Helen’s laugh is warm and maternal. She’s not even their fucking mother, for crying out loud.
“Oh, they’re still bickering, are they? I do hope they figure out how to work through their problems soon.”
“It’s a wonder what being raised pitted against your brother could do to a person. One being so good and pure, the other being reminded repeatedly that he’s worthless,” I say dryly. “Even after escaping that toxic place, Julian is still learning to not see things so black and white.”
And he will learn, even if I need to let the others beat it into him.
There’s a lengthy silence on the other end of the line. I’ve struck a nerve, and for good reason. She’s family and should’ve intervened sooner. But she chose not to.
That’s something I’ve come to realise. As a child, you have virtually no power, and if your parents want to mistreat you, there’s very few who can hold them accountable.
But the family members who stayed silent all those years… well, they failed you, too. In a different way, of course, but they still did it.
And whilst none of the Graves men see that, I do.
Helen and Adrian should’ve intervened far more than their paltry efforts once Lucifer, Hadrian, and Julian became adults.
“I think... well, I think they’re both finding their way,” she finally says. “But you’re not wrong about their childhood.”
I watch droplets of rain skitter down the glass window, my reflection blurred and doubled. It’s clear to see my frustration, though.
My anger.
“Hm. If it helps, Lucifer is encouraging brotherly bonding,” I offer and instantly regret it.
I’m offering an olive branch that she doesn’t deserve. Not after everything she’s done to me.
Fuck me, is this because Lucifer has humanised her to me?
The idea is revolting.
Fucking hell, no thank you.
“I’m sure he is,” she says brightly. “He’s a good boy.”
I snort.
“I’m not sure good is a word I’d use to describe him,” I say, unable to help the smile that tugs at my lips. Lucifer’s face flashes in my mind, and my chromius purrs in appreciation.
So fucking pathetic.
I can just imagine the horror at being called good.
“You’re fond of him,” Helen says, teasing but not unkindly. She’s not pushing anything, not like her stupid mate does.
I can hear her shifting the phone, a soft clattering, and then the muted echo of talking in the background, and the sound of more hurried footsteps.
“They’re lucky to have you, Maeve. All three of them. Whether they admit it or not.”
“Luck is a relative concept,” I say and immediately regret how sour it comes out.
I can’t believe her. Not when the evidence suggests otherwise.
Another long pause, this one heavier than the last, and when Helen speaks again, her voice is oddly gentle.
“I know it’s not easy, love. But you’re doing good. You’re doing better than most.”
I grimace. “Where’s Adrian?”
“He’s just finishing up,” Helen says.
I don’t believe her. She’s dragged this conversation out for some reason, and I think it’s a power play. She’s trying to make me feel guilty for not caring—for not calling.
Or maybe she’s trying to weasel more information out of me for Adrian. Hell, he could be listening in and planning his approach.
Fucking bastards.
This was a bad idea.
“If you could tell him to hurry up, that would be great. I don’t have all day to waste,” I say, but this time, there’s very little bite in my words.
“He knows it’s urgent, love,” Helen says, not rising to my bait. “I must say, though, it’s lovely to hear your voice. Even when the circumstances aren’t ideal.”
I roll my eyes at the ceiling, grateful she can’t see me.
“Thanks,” I manage.
“Here he is. Don’t be a stranger, I’d love to hear from you more often,” she says before there’s lots of rustling sounds.
I cringe, hating the loud noises of the line interference before, finally, Adrian must put it to his ear.
“Hi,” Adrian says with warmth in his voice, and I bite back a gag.
He’s too familiar. Too fucking slimy.
“It’s Maeve,” I say, infusing my voice with as much coldness as I can muster. He doesn’t get to hear my emotions.
I hear him shifting, probably settling into his chair. There’s a faint clink of something against glass. Of course, he’s drinking at this time in the day.
Fucking prick.
“I knew that, love. What’s going on?” Adrian asks. “Are you safe?”
“I lost the straw draw, unfortunately, and get to be the lucky one to tell you about our latest discovery.”
I can feel his frown, and it brings a smile to my face.
“What?”
“We pulled straws. Nobody wanted to talk to you, weirdly, and mine was the shortest,” I fib.
Whilst that was an option proposed, we all know that he’d demand to speak to me anyway.
May as well save the random methods of selection for other things. For torturous things.
“I see. Are you safe?”
“Safe is always relative where I’m concerned,” I say, as a shiver wracks my spine. My chromius snarls, and I wish I could fix it.
“Of course,” he replies, not faltering. “And what discovery needs sharing?”
Ever the politician. Straight to the point.
“Lucifer’s found out who picked up the rotting head of my abuser and delivered it to my doorstep,” I say brightly. “You know, the man you forced me to testify against whilst I was at my lowest and then decided to let go?”
He growls low, and I feel something snap inside me. How fucking dare he act as if he’s the injured party here.
Adrian’s the cause of all my problems.
The root of all evil—the puppet master behind the villains in my life.
My chromius is spitting with rage, an almost tangible feeling under my skin, as she threatens to break free—no matter how impossible it is.
I grip my phone tighter as the antsy feeling of the cockroaches dance across my skin again.
“Who is it?” Adrian’s voice has dropped an octave, all pretence of warmth gone. “Maeve?”
“Caspian. My original guard-lead,” I say, and his side of the line goes silent. “Problem?”