CHAPTER
SEVEN
Zane/Chaos
Words just flowed from my lips like a broken faucet. My dad’s death left a curse on my name. My own mother damned me. She rushed to my dad’s aid, leaving one of her sons unconscious and the other vibrating with the reality of a life-changing action. When the police asked me why I did it, I said, “Because I hate him.”
That hate has never gone away. It festers inside me, fermenting with each passing year. It’s a rotting dark stain on my life.
Not her, though. Even with the darkness tormenting her soul, light shines from Lily.
I want to keep her.
I step out of the truck, my boots grinding against the gravel, and roll my shoulders. Heavy music thrums toward us, getting louder the closer we get to the door. Lily grabs my arm to stop me from going further.
Retching sounds draw our attention to one of the women who just left the bar. She’s leaning against the wall, heaving, her friends stumbling and giggling beside her.
“Maybe we get a bottle to go and park somewhere quieter?”
I couldn’t agree more. “You go back to the truck. I’ll grab us a bottle.” I keep my eyes on her until she’s back in the truck with the door closed before I head inside.
Trent, the bar owner, spots me immediately and stiffens. A rustle of apprehension tensing his shoulders. It doesn’t matter how many times I come drinking here the asshole watches me like I’m going to start fucking shit up.
“All good, Trent?” I ask to be a dick manoeuvring through the crowd to the bar. He offers me pinched features and a grunt. Turning my attention to Willy, one of the bartenders, I ask, “Can I get a bottle of Jack?”
Bodies shove against my back, trying to order drinks by shouting over my shoulder. There’s no way Lily and I would have been able to talk over this noise. “Kiss the bride to be?” Some woman croons in my ear, white lace material hanging from her head, a sash across her chest.
“No thanks.”
Trent moves from the end of the bar, ushering the people bumping into me farther down. I grin at him, and he nods to Willy, who plonks the bottle on the bar with a glass. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
“Thanks. I won’t be needing this. I’m not staying.” I push the glass back toward him, and Trent sags in relief. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what his problem is but fuck it and fuck him. Lily is waiting.
Swiping up the bottle, I shove my way past everyone until I breathe fresh air again and make my way back to the truck. Lily’s in the driver’s seat, tapping her thumb on the wheel to the beat of a song on the radio.
Opening the passenger side door, I raise a brow, and she rolls her eyes. “Get in. I want to take you somewhere.”
“Should I be worried?”
“You’re safe with me.” She winks, and it’s fucking adorable. Climbing inside, I slam the door closed and buckle in.
Pulling out, she swerves to avoid the group still lingering and merges with traffic. Lights blur past the window, the streets getting quieter as the night wears on. Driving up a suburban street, Lily idles the truck next to an old Toyota.
“This is where I used to live.” She points to a one-story house, the garden overgrown with weeds, the paint chipping on the garage door.
“Who lives here now?” I ask, watching her. The light from the moon slices through a break in the clouds, highlighting the side of her face.
“No one,” she breathes out, her body almost curling into itself. “I inherited it.”
No shit.
“My grandparents inherited me, I suppose, when my mom killed herself.” Pain emanates from her in waves.
Fuck, I want to hold her. “Drugs.” She scoffs, swiping at her nose, not taking her eyes from the house.
It’s an odd-looking place. There’s only one window to the side of the house, and the front is just a pale blue wall.
“She must have known what they were.” Dropping her hands in her lap, she shivers. “I could have told Jameson. He would have burned this place to ash.”
“Why didn’t you?” My nerves jitter like bugs have embedded under my skin.
“They got inside my head. Said I was to blame. A dirty little sinner. Told me Jameson would disown me if he knew. Ruby too.”
My hand’s fist. My muscles coil, stretching my skin. “I couldn’t bear the thought of him or Ruby knowing. Still can’t.” She shakes her head.
“They wouldn’t see you differently.” Anger boils inside me, needing an outlet. Those motherfuckers hurt her.
“Yes, they would.” She turns her gaze to me. “They’d have guilt that they can never get rid of. I’d never do that to them.”
“You said you inherited this place, does that mean your grandparents are both dead?” I hope one is alive so I can wrap my hands around their throat and feel the life fade from them.
Opening the truck door, she steps out, and I follow suit.
She walks down the driveway and stops by the windowless wall. Closing her eyes, a single tear falls to her cheek. Her anxiety is palpable, pulsing through my own veins.
What did they do to you?
“They’re both dead,” she finally says. Taking a deep breath, she smiles to herself before looking back to me. “Because I killed them.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
PAST.
LILY
Eighteen years old…
I shove my clothes into my backpack, feeling energized for the first time in a long time. Jameson got me a job at Hell-made Helmets and said I could stay with him whenever I want.
Eighteen.
I made it.
Getting to my feet, I look around my room, wishing I could burn it to the ground, and close the door behind me. The smell of grandma's pot pie fills the house, turning my stomach to acid. Since I reached sixteen and got my driver's license, I have spent more time out of the house and eating out with Ruby. She noticed the weight I was losing and was concerned I had an eating disorder.
"Where are you going?" My stomach drops at the sound of Grandpa's voice.
Hoisting my bag strap further up my shoulder, I say, "Work."
"Say goodbye to your grandma.” He juts his square jaw toward the kitchen, his checked shirt tucked into a pair of gray slacks, the bottom buttons straining to stay closed around his beer belly. I'm tempted to tell him no, but I want to get out of here in one piece.
I walk into the kitchen, and he follows, the scent of Old Spice clinging to the air around me. "Grandma, I'm leaving," I say quickly, looking over my shoulder to see what he's doing. He opens the basement door and disappears down the steps, each thud making me breathe a little easier.
Giving grandma my attention, my brow furrows at the paper in front of her, a little girl's picture clipped to the page, her details written beside it.
Rebecca
Age 9
Foster care for two years.
"What is that?" I ask, a cold whip lashing at my spine.
"Now that you're eighteen, we’ll have a room spare."
No. FUCK NO! No.
My fate was sealed by blood. Mother left me to these demons. This child doesn't deserve it.
"Isn't she precious? She looks like you when you came to live with us."