by T. L. Martin
My chest hammers hard. The blood rushes to my ears.
Fuck, what I’d do to really kiss this girl.
The screech of tires tearing out of our driveway hits my ears. Pathetically, from too many nights of waiting up, I know the revving engine belongs to my dad’s Aston Martin. I listen to the sound until it fades, taking the heat in my veins with it.
Letting out a rough breath, I force myself to sit up, careful not to disturb Eva. I run my palms through my hair and over my face, squeezing my eyes shut. Every cell in me weighs heavily with the need to stay in this bed with Eva. It’s a raw, incessant need, but my dad’s peeling tires remind me why I need to get the hell up and study. I bring my gaze back to her.
Eva.
She’s everything this family isn’t. My dad works in law for nothing more than power and manipulation. My mom only lives for status. Eva’s different from the obnoxious guests who were present at my parents’ anniversary party. She’s different from everyone in this neighborhood, people who have no clue what real life is actually like for those they claim to want to help.
And I’m one of them.
I might not be a Rutherford by blood—something rough and painful climbs up my throat at the thought—but I may as well be. I can have whatever I want, thanks to Vincent’s money. I’m attending the prestigious school he sends me to. I even took advantage of my status, my name, to get Mr. Doau to leave Eva alone. But I’m not going to be like them forever.
Eva shifts, and a soft moan escapes as she moves closer to me in her sleep. Her hand touches mine, her breath deepening once more. I look down at our connecting fingers.
She doesn’t talk about her life before she got here, but I know she’s been through hell. My parents know it too, yet nothing has been done about it. My jaw clenches, my gaze traveling up her body to her face. Someone hurt her. Someone who’s probably still out there. And Vincent, a man who claims to be a protector of the law, hasn’t done shit about it because he and my mom see life through a crystal lens. Eva’s pain isn’t real to them. They didn’t see her all those nights she crept into our yard, and they still don’t see her now that she’s right in front of them.
Their crystal lens isn’t new though. My parents have been blind for decades.
They didn’t care that Isaac’s birth mother was being grossly abused by her husband when he was put up for adoption; they only cared that they got their baby.
If I’m not careful, I’ll wind up just like them, in a bubble that isn’t real. In a world made out of tailored suits, Botox, and promises in pill form. In a world where you hide behind money and corner offices, pretending to understand things you don’t even see.
My knuckles curl, and I exhale. I’m not going to become my parents. Like Vincent, I’ll study everything there is to know about the law, but I’ll do it on my terms. Without his name. Without his money. I’ll earn my pretentious fucking corner office, but I won’t dare warm the seat until I’ve stuck both my feet in the mud as a cop. I’m going to earn my way firsthand to protect the people I claim to serve.
My breath starts to slow as I carefully brush a strand of hair from Eva’s face. The ice in my blood thaws. She shouldn’t have had to go through whatever it is she did. But she’s safe now.
And I’m going to make sure she always is.
Knock, knock, knock.
My spine goes rigid.
“Darling.”
Shit. What the hell is my mom doing up so early?
“Open the door, please.”
Just as the knob starts to turn, I bolt up from my bed and beat my mom to it. With a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Eva’s still asleep, I slip into the hallway and close the door behind me.
I frown as I take in the dark circles beneath my mom’s bloodshot eyes. Her hair looks like a rabid cat, and faint wrinkles line her red blazer. I want to be angry with her, I am angry, but I can’t get the memory of her crying out of my head, and right now, I hardly even recognize her.
“Easton,” she says quietly. Inspecting my face, she reaches up, and trembling fingers stroke my cheek.
Unease spreads through me. “What’s going on?” I ask gently. Cautiously.
She drops her hand, shakes her head. “Nothing. I just wanted to see my sweet boy. Is there a law against that?”
My eyes narrow. Sweet boy?
“I was just thinking . . .” She smooths her blazer, glancing away. “We should have breakfast. Like, together.”
“Breakfast.” If my expression hides my revulsion at the thought, my voice makes it clear. “Really?”
A thump sounds behind my closed door, and alarm pricks my skin.
My mom peers around me. “Do you have company?” Slowly, her eyes slide down the hall, toward Eva’s open door, then back again.
“Yeah,” I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck. “Ah, Whitney stayed over.”
“Oh.” She glances at Eva’s door again, but this time, her attention lingers. “Hmm. Odd for Eva to be up this early, isn’t it?” She squints and turns toward Eva’s room. “In fact, I’m just going to check on—”
“Wait.” We’re both startled when I grab my mom’s arm. She looks down, at where my hand is curled lightly around her wrist, and I let go. “I’m sure she just forgot to shut her door. You know how she likes to sleep in. But if you still want that breakfast, I’m headed downstairs for coffee, so . . .” My next words are awkward as hell, each one trapped in my throat, but I push them out like my life depends on it. Because Eva’s might. “Want to come? I’ll, uh, I’ll make you some.” I almost choke when I force out, “I’ll make it the way you want.”
There’s a reason I usually let Eva make my mom’s coffee. I refuse to spike it, something that used to piss my mom off enough she’d double her pill intake to compensate. I couldn’t bring myself to add the shit to her drink. When she started having Eva make it for her, I noticed Eva only adds the bare minimum, just enough my mom can’t tell the difference. I’ve silently appreciated that since day one.
My mom’s brows knit as she eyes me skeptically. “Really?”
My jaw is hard, but I nod. “Yep.”
I don’t wait for her response before I start walking toward the staircase, hoping like hell she’ll follow.
Any other day, she’d march right down that hall to see where Eva is for herself. But, apparently, I’m not the only one still affected by everything that came out at the anniversary party.
Four steps, five steps . . . finally, the familiar click-clack of heels sounds behind me, and I push out a breath of relief.
She knows something’s up, but she doesn’t know what.
For now.
Eva
Thump.
I spring upright, fingers curling into the sheets. What the fuck was that? My heart echoes the thump, thump, thump, and my gaze flits to the empty side of the bed.
He’s gone.
Trying to slow my breathing, I scan the rest of Easton’s room.
You’re being stupid again.
I imagined the sound. It’s not real. My broken box is spazzing and—
Terror clutches my throat when I spy a tall, dark form blocking the window. A gasp leaves my mouth. I try to scream, but I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—
“Shhh. It’s okay.” The form moves closer, its shadow climbing up the walls and over my head, and I’m useless, frozen, broken. “Evangeline. It’s okay.”
Evangeline.
Evangeline.
He knows my name.
Warm fingers brush my shoulders. I open my mouth to scream, but the shadow grips the sides of my face with gentle hands—hands connected to bulky, olive-toned arms. He angles my head upward, forcing my wide eyes to lock on his.
“Shhh . . .” he says again. “It’s me. It’s me.”
“Alejandro,” I breathe. Relief pours into my lungs with sharp bursts of oxygen, and as my pulse slows, I realize he’s not a shadow at all. I can see him clearly. “Alejandro. You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
Tears sting my eyes as my cousin pulls me into a hug. His gold necklace presses against my temple, cold and soothing. He holds me tight—so tight the stupid tears won’t stop leaking.
Eventually, I try to push him away. “Okay. Stop. You’re going to kill me.”
He chuckles, and the low sound vibrates from his chest to my ear. The bastard doesn’t let go. “You’ve got my Colombian blood. Nothing can kill you.”
“Seriously though,” I gasp. “Can’t. Breathe.”
He pulls away, frowning, and I grin.
“Wow. That was easy,” I mutter. “You’ve gotten soft. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
He smirks, arches his brows. “Soft? You seen my guns lately?” He lifts his arms, flexes, and a laugh bubbles up my throat. He really is jacked.
“Gag me.”
“I’ve missed you too.” His expression goes grim. Dark, almost black eyes settle on me with something somber, and it reminds me how rarely my cousin’s goofy, lighthearted side shows.
When he’s serious, there’s no mistaking he’s a man laced in darkness. His black hair is shaved closely on the sides, but the top is long enough to brush his ears. He’s always had a strong face, with hard angles and a straight, defined nose. Black ink peeks above the collar of his T-shirt, hinting at the tattoos hiding beneath.
My smile slips, and I wipe the wetness from my cheeks and look away. “You got my letter?”
“I did.”
“What did you find out?”
“First . . . good job getting your grades up again.” He looks at me. “Have you started applying to any colleges?”
I roll my eyes, but something about the question grounds me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. “With my sparkling resumé? I don’t think so.”
“Would you rather come work for me then?”
I have no idea what he does, but I wrinkle my nose at the thought, and his lips quirk.
“You gotta take this more seriously, Evangeline. There’s something out there for you, a bigger purpose. You just gotta find it.”
Unease settles in my stomach, forcing me to look away. What he doesn’t know is, I’ve already decided I’m going to college. But it’s not because I believe there’s a bigger purpose for me. It doesn’t matter how many times Alejandro says it, or how many times my mom said there was more out there waiting for me. I know who I am, and I won’t fool myself with thoughts that will never be fulfilled. No, the only reason I’m going to college and getting some fluffy degree is to prove I can.
Anyway, none of that matters right now. My grades aren’t the real reason he’s here.
“Alejandro . . .” I say, returning my attention to him. My throat tightens with the next words out of my mouth. “Tell me what you found out. Is—is he alive?”
My cousin doesn’t respond right away, and his expression ties my stomach in knots.
“Tell me.”
“He’s alive,” he says quietly.
A stupid sob chokes me, and I hate myself for it. I hate him for it. Anger crawls up my body and traps a fiery scream in my chest. He’s alive. How could he have survived? Monsters like him don’t deserve a heartbeat. I should have stayed and ripped his heart out when I had the chance.
My eyes burn as anger boils over. Who am I kidding? I froze when my own cousin snuck in to see me.
Pathetic.
“Evangeline—”
“And my dad? My mom?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know about them.”
“I do now,” I snap, but immediately regret it. “Shit. I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know . . . I know I’ve said that in the past, but that was then. I need to know now. I’m ready now.”
Alejandro pulls in a breath and adjusts his position to sit beside me with his back against the headboard. His response is nonchalant. “Your dad’s dead. He was found hanging from the ceiling fan in his bedroom.”
“I guess some monsters do die.” My voice is distant, like it doesn’t belong to me. “How long ago?”
“Exactly one year after you ran away.”
A hollow half-laugh escapes me. “Happy anniversary to me.”
He grunts.
After a moment, I turn my head to look my cousin in the eye. “And my mom? Is she . . . is she . . . ?”
There’s a long pause before he mutters, “I don’t know.”
Fear and hope tangle like a sticky web in my chest. “You don’t know?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t been able to find her.”
A fresh sting builds behind my eyes. I close them and lie back, sinking into the pillow. “That’s okay. She’s okay,” I assure him, myself.
“Evangeline,” my cousin says softly. “You know I can make him disappear for good.”
I don’t open my eyes.
“Just say the word.”
Dark, greedy temptation stirs to life at the thought, but I quickly put out the flame. “As if you haven’t already done enough for my family,” I whisper, a traitorous tear spilling over my lashes. “We got you sent to prison once. I could never do that to you again.”
“Hey.” Fingers touch my chin, lift it. He waits patiently for me to look at him. “Your mother was more than an aunt to me. She raised me too for a while. I’d kill her brother all over again if I could go back, except I’d do it sooner, before he ever pimped her out.” His lips press into a tight line, voice lowering to a soft growl. “I would’ve killed your dad myself too if she hadn’t begged me not to.”
A dry sound escapes me. “You talk like you can just go around killing anyone you don’t like.”
“Not anyone.” The dangerous edge in his eyes raises the hair on the back of my neck. “Just those who hurt the ones I love and get away with it.”
I squint, searching his face. New scars pepper his skin: two slashing his left eyebrow, one across his bottom lip. The tattoos on his neck almost hide a nasty mark beneath his jaw.
I swallow. “Alejandro. What are you up to? Why does everyone seem so scared of you?”
His lips twitch, but there’s no humor in the expression. Only dark, deep shadows, the kind that haunt little girls’ dreams. “Don’t worry about me, little cousin,” he says lazily and rests his head against the headboard. “I make my choices, like you make yours.” He scans the bedroom, eyes narrowing. “Speaking of choices . . .”
His focus settles on a picture of Easton, probably no more than ten years old. Isaac is grinning beside him, saying something that made Easton laugh. They look so carefree, so happy. The photo captures a moment I could never have been a part of.
“Can you guess what kind of thoughts ran through my head when I went to your window first and saw an empty room?” His gaze slides to mine. “Do I want to know why you’re sleeping in your new brother’s bed?”
I chew my lip, still staring at the photograph. “Probably not.”
My cousin tilts his head, and I force my gaze back to his. Worry etches into taut lines on his face.
“He’s good, Alejandro.” My voice cracks. “So good.”
This time, when his lips tip up, it’s enough to reveal the dimple on his right cheek. The smile transforms his entire face from dangerous to gentle.
His thumb strokes the side of my face. “Who’s soft now, little cuz?”
I smile. “Shut up.”
He chuckles, lets out a sigh, and stands. “I have to go.”
“I know.” I scoot off the bed. “Jesus, you’ve gotten huge. Tall and jacked.”
He smirks, but his expression turns serious again just as quickly. “Don’t forget my offer, Evangeline. I mean it. If you change your mind, you know I got you, right?”
I look away to hide the fresh tears threatening to escape. “And you know I’d never be okay with you doing that for me.”
He nods, wraps his arms around me, and pulls me in for another one of his deadly hugs, which is something that’s never changed about my cousin. Ever since I was little, I remember him hugg
ing like it could be the last time. Like he might never see me again. And I guess, with lives like ours, he might not.
My voice is thick when I say, “It’s Eva now, by the way.”
He pulls back to look at me, brows furrowing. “Eva?”
I nod, and he gives me a crooked smile.
“I like it.”
The floor creaks, and a sliver of light pours into the bedroom.
My head whips toward the sound. My heart catches in my throat.
Easton stands in the open doorway, eyes darkening as they flit between me and Alejandro. Horror floods me when I realize I’m still wrapped tightly in his arms.
Click-clack, click-clack. “I suppose I’ll need to wake Eva for school at this point.” Bridget’s voice travels up the stairs, growing closer, closer. “Surely, she’s in a coma by now if she’s still sleeping.”
My cousin drops his arms.
I open my mouth. “Easton . . .” His name is barely a whisper.
Easton’s jaw ticks, but he gives nothing else away as he slowly replies, still staring right at me, “She’s up.”
“Are you certain?”
“Pretty damn sure.”
My heart thumps in my ears at how near her voice is now. She’s almost reached the top of the stairs. I look at my cousin, who’s standing as solid as the walls encasing us, attention fixed on the hallway. Prepared for anything.
“Go,” I rush to say, nudging him. My words are shaky, breathing rough. It’s bad enough Easton’s seen him, but Bridget? It would be prison or death, for one of them. “Alejandro, go. Please.”
Easton touches the doorknob, and the searing heat of his gaze cuts straight through me. Then, he pulls the door shut and disappears.
I hear voices on the other side of the closed door at the same time my cousin yanks the window open. Whatever Easton says is enough to convince his mom to walk away. I want to be relieved at the sound of her heels fading, but agony spills into my lungs in tidal waves, preventing oxygen from coming through.
All I see is the look on Easton’s face.
Betrayal.