Chapter 14 #2
Louisa’s staff fill the room, placing down cutlery, and are shortly followed by more people putting plated food before us. My stomach churns at the sight. This isn’t even a formal dinner, not that we ever have those. It’s just a delayed family Thanksgiving.
One year Mom had too many glasses of wine and burned the turkey, and I remember the house filled with a smoke so thick we had to open every single ventilation point.
That’s what made it normal, her almost cremating the place as the place filled with laughter.
I’d rather burn this place to the ground by my own hand.
That’s my new fucking normal.
“What about Barry? His food will get cold,” Mom chimes but still tucks in as she looks expectantly at my sister.
She shrugs. “Nothing he isn’t used to, Mom. He won’t be too late.”
My eyes are glued to Louisa as she talks with Morgan, discussing politics and everything in between. She’s a damn good actress, I’ll tell you that. She hasn’t shown an ounce of discomfort, the only hint of it when she tensed beneath my hold.
I suppose when you’ve had God knows how many years to practice, stepping into your second skin comes naturally. It’s probably her only form now.
Mom nudges her elbow into my side. “Tell us about England. Where did you go?”
In the midst of the chaos, I didn’t rehearse this.
All eyes land on me as I glance around the table.
FUCK.
Saint grips my clenching hands under the table, fanning the other arm behind my chair as he takes over from my stage fright. “I took her to London for the week, then travelled to most of the bigger cities before heading north for the rest of our time.”
I smile shyly to my mom. “Scotland’s beautiful at this time of year.”
I turn back to look at Saint; his face is like stone. His eyes pin me with a look that says maybe I should think before I speak.
Neither of us have fucking been there.
Mom coos, “I’m so jealous, I’ve always wanted to go there.”
My fork and knife move around the food on my plate, and I scoop a reluctant mouthful in. “The weather’s just the same as here, Mom.”
Thankfully, that’s just a well-known fact, no prior research history needed to conclude my thoughts.
Louisa’s voice cuts right through me. “Is Gina back from her vacation yet?”
My shoulder blades stiffen. “No…not yet. She’s still got a couple weeks yet.”
“What’s this I hear she has a boyfriend?” Mom asks, but I don’t get a chance to answer before Louisa does it for me.
“She met him through, Saint. Isn’t that right?”
It’s the first time since we sat down that Louisa has openly looked at him. “Yes, he worked for my dad. I met him a couple of times when I went away over the summers. We got friendly after that.” He holds Louisa’s wary glance, tone frosting over. “He’s good at what he does.”
I clock the gaze she pours over him, but she seems unruffled with his mild threat.
Why is she so obsessed with Regina?
Her gaze shifts to me, and something flickers behind her eyes. Her face…it softens.
It’s not there too long before she’s straightening her back, leaning against the chair. “And how exactly did you two cross paths with each other again? Don’t give me your half-assed answer again.”
Saint finishes the last of his food, eyeing mine and noticing it’s merely a pile of mush that I’ve hidden under an abundance of uneaten vegetables. “You tell them, darling.”
The word traitor screams in big, red and bold letters behind my eyes. Didn’t my random-ass mention of Scotland not show him I’m not cut out for this?
I focus back on my sister. “Well…we just so happened to bump into each other.”
“Where?”
“Let her finish, Louisa. Love stories shouldn’t be rushed,” Mom adds, giving me a wink when I turn to look at her.
Saint—clearly having a moment of lucidity—decides to take the reins. “I was at my dad’s house a few months ago; she drove past when I was getting in the gate.”
Mom pokes my side, and I note that the last time I was nearby hers would have been the morning I killed Clarke. “All this time you’ve kept this quiet?”
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t want to mention it until we were sure, then you wouldn’t be disappointed.” The lie surprisingly rolls off my tongue with ease. Partly because it’s one of my hidden truths.
The events that led to Saint and I being together are far from anything she would approve of. If she knew her daughter was in fact a killer, she’d never look at me the same way again.
I don’t think my reasons would be enough to save her from that judgement.
A grating voice rams through the conversation, the hackles on my back instantly standing to attention. I don’t know if it’s the revelation of it all, or if Barry’s voice has always felt like someone’s dragging a serrated knife along my spine.
“Ah look who it is, the sightseers. How are you doing, Saint?” Barry slaps both hands on Saint’s shoulders, gripping him hard.
If it’s painful, Saint doesn’t react.
His face remains like stone, and his voice doesn’t waver, keeping that same smooth tone he’s held all night. “Barry.”
He lets go with a nudge, but it doesn’t work as he intended. Saint is at least twice the size of him.
Dressed in a suit that matches Louisa’s, he looks all business. His golden-brown hair shines against the chandelier, and those hazel eyes could well be gleaming red when I lock eyes with him. “Where’s your shadow? Rina?”
“Regina,” Louisa cuts in.
“Fuck, of course. I thought she was joining you?”
“She’s—” Louisa cuts in again.
“Still travelling?” I bunch my brows at him. Louisa never extended the invite to her.
Barry pins me with a look, and my next breath feels like sand has filled my lungs. “Well, that’s a shame.”
The rest of the meal goes by without any more awkward occurrences. Mom and Morgan mostly hold the fort; Saint and Barry seem to be in a silent battle of who might get their head shot off first.
And Louisa? She’s got her eyes locked on her husband.
When it’s time to leave, the pit in my stomach eases, everyone getting ready to say their goodbyes until my mom shouts down the hall to Saint, “Oh, Saint. Help me carry these out to the car quickly would you, honey? There’s some in there for you too.”
I turn to find her holding a bag full of gifts, shoving one with her foot along the sleek tiled floor. “Mom, I’m twenty-eight. Spend your money on yourself!”
Every Thanksgiving, Mom would get us presents. It’s a tradition she’s always kept up. Despite it not being customary, she always, always sneaks in what she calls her Christmas starter pack.
“Hush, there’s some in there for Gina as well. Come on, Saint, put those muscles to use!” Her laugh follows her to the door, and Saint glares at me.
“I’ll be fine, just be quick,” I whisper, but he pulls me into him as if he’s giving me a hug, and in one sleek movement, tucks his gun into the back of my waistband.
“Safety is off.”
His eyes glance over my head, before Mom’s calling him from the bottom of the steps outside.
I follow him to the doorway, standing beside the widow that gives me a direct view of him shoving the bags into the trunk, whilst Mom chats to him.
Morgan seems to have disappeared in one of the many rooms looking for a bathroom, a wise choice seeing as Mom wants a photo of us all before we leave.
I’d rather peel my skin off.
Awareness prickles over me like tiny needles, a shadow blocking out mine in the reflection of the window. “Where is she, Indie?”
My jaw rattles as I keep my eyes on Saint. A physical hand wraps around my nape this time, tugging me backwards.
Hard.
“Don’t touch me, Barry,” I bite out, hand itching for the gun in my jeans.
“I know you’re fucking lying about where she is,” he hisses in my ear, his grasp on me getting tighter, enough that I know I’ll have fingerprints.
My heart thunders in my chest, and I fight the urge not to lose it, to not panic, and tears burn behind my eyes with the fear raising its ugly head at who’s holding me like this.
His breath brushes past my ear, and my entire back feels like it’s being set on fire. I fight to keep my voice steady, but it wavers ever so slightly at the end. “I don’t know what you’re—”
He yanks me to his chest again, and I arch so I have space.
Fuck, I can’t even break his arm to get out of the hold. How the hell do I explain that to my own mother?
“Your sister might think you’re innocent in all this. But I know you’re protecting Regina because of what she’s fucking done.”
I freeze.
What the hell?
“You have precisely one second to get your hand off me,” I snarl.
His gritty laugh brushes against my cheek. “Regina teach you how to talk like that?”
The fuck is going on here?
“What is your problem with Gina—”
“Listen to me, and listen very carefully. When you get back to that little fortress in the woods, I want you to tell Saint and Regina to hand themselves into the manor within a week. I won’t be expecting any delays, seeing as both of them were strolling through it not too long ago.”
I catch the precise moment Saint’s slow, rolling gaze travels from his phone screen to the window, meeting my eyes.
My earpiece.
The guys have messaged him.
Shit, I can’t have a gun fight in front of my mom.
Saint slams the trunk door shut with a force that shakes the car, abandoning her calls, and Barry releases me with a shove.
My eyes snap to my brother-in-law as I twist. I might as well give up the act; he knows.
Before I can get a word out, he steps into me, dropping his voice low and dangerous. “And if they don’t. Well, let’s just say we’ve got some plans…you’re not gonna like them.”
He steps away from me, sliding his hands in his pockets as his voice morphs back into his usual dull tone. “You should come around more often, Indie. You’ll always be welcome here.”
Saint appears in the doorway the minute Barry disappears into the study. His white-hot gaze follows him, and I clock the moment his hand reaches for my waistband as I jerk out of his hold. “No, Saint. Please.”
His gaze snaps up to mine.
I’ve never seen him look like this.
Rage vibrates off him like a roaring inferno, his chest rising and falling as he fights to control the anger.
My mom appears in the doorway the same time Morgan makes his way down the stairs.
I can’t think, never mind standing smiling in a photograph next to a pair of fucking serpents. “Sorry, Mom, we’ll need to leave. I-I really don’t feel good.”
Saint kisses my temple, whispering, ‘Stand down’ into the earpiece, and my mom puts her hand on my forehead, feeling for a temperature. “Oh, sweetie. Your face is flushed.”
“Don’t say the cooking poisoned you.”
Louisa strolls in, giving me a soft smile.
Barry’s words echo in my mind.
Your sister might think you’re innocent in all this.
“You wish.”
She rolls her eyes from behind Mom, who brings me in for a hug. “There’s always Christmas. I’ll make sure to take it before everyone has eaten,” she says into my hair, giving me a kiss on the cheek before moving to Saint.
My sister walks towards me to bring me in. It’s the same kind as always, except, I brace.
Waiting for the moment the knife stabs into my back. But it doesn’t come. Not physically.
The invisible one she wields is scraping along my spine, trying to find the perfect placement before she plunges it into my heart.