No one in their right mind begs for an audience with the bogeyman, but I’ve long since quit thinking of myself as sane.
My buzzer rings, and I walk to the intercom.
“Yes?”
There’s a grunt in response. No words. But the grunt tells me all I need to know.
My ride is here, and my driver is a man who doesn’t speak. V.
I’m going to face the devil himself and demand answers. If only I could demand that he bring my brother back. That’s all I want.
That and to shed this heavy cloak of betrayal that weighs down my every step.
Kane lied to me.
I believed him.
I hate myself for that. Maybe even more than I hate him.
“I’m on my way down,” I say into the intercom, like there’s any chance I’m going to miss this meeting.
I shove my feet into battered work boots. They fit with my ripped jeans and old T-shirt. It’s the best I can manage.
When I opened my closet earlier to find something to wear, a memory of scanning the very same clothes to find something to wear to the club hits me.
To wear to the club to meet him.
I slammed the door shut and scooped something off my floor.
At least jeans and a T-shirt don’t make me want to crawl back into bed and give up on the world like a skirt or dress would. Everything makes me think of him and all the mistakes I made. How easily I was played.
And now, nothing will ever be the same.
I leave my apartment, locking the door behind me, and plod down the spiral staircase.
Harriet’s windows are open, and an opera I have zero chance of naming floats out onto the evening air.
I stop and tell her I’m leaving, but I don’t want to talk more than necessary. I realize I’m being awful to everyone who gives the tiniest damn about me. That list is short to begin with, so I should be kinder and more grateful, but I just don’t have it in me right now.
I hate myself for that too.
With a deep breath, I make my way down the brick walkway to the gate, where I see V, Keira’s driver and bodyguard, standing beside a black car.
The car.
I almost puke my guts up on the brick pathway when I realize it’s the Maybach I rode to the airport in with Kane. On the way to meet my brother to flee the country. But really, there was no trip planned. Only my brother’s execution.
Mount knows I rode in this car.
Fucking asshole.Is this his way of testing me? Forcing me to relive it? Making me decide how badly I want to see him and get my answers?
I wrap my fingers around the wrought-iron bars and stare at V. He stares back at me, expressionless.
I can’t do this.
He lifts his chin, crosses his arms, and waits.
I hate him too.