by K. V. Rose
I look back at the guards. “Drop your weapons. Leave them here. Go back outside. Or your boss’s girl will get her pretty little face carved up.”
Slowly, they lower their weapons. But they make to stow them back in the holsters.
I shake my head, the knife still in my hand.
“Nu uh,” I command them. “I said leave them.”
“Mayhem,” Brooklin whimpers.
Mayhem laughs. “Don’t call for me now,” he growls.
“We can’t leave the front doors unprotected,” the shorter guard says to me, ignoring the exchange between another fucked up brother and sister.
I don’t know what Jeremiah had been thinking, leaving her here. Maybe he meant her as a peace offering. Maybe Nicolas and I had both been wrong. Maybe Brooklin actually didn’t mean that much to him.
“Drop them or she dies. That’s the last chance I’m giving you. And her.”
They stare at me a moment longer, hatred burning in their eyes. They don’t want to take orders from Jeremiah’s little sister.
“I’d listen to her if I were you,” Atlas says cheerfully.
They finally do as they’re told, dropping their weapons. And then they back slowly out, never turning their backs on us until they’re out the doors. They resume their posts without glancing back.
I grab their guns and turn, nodding to Lucifer. “Take her with us.”
Mayhem clicks his tongue. “Leave her here,” he says quietly, his eyes on his sister’s. “We’ll stay down here and watch these fuckers.” He jerks his head to the guards at the front door. He’s still standing over a cowering Nicolas.
The rest of the Unsaints nod, Lucifer included. He shoves Brooklin forward, and then me and him find our way to the elevator. I punch the number eight, and we go up.
Nicolas is lying motionless on the floor, face down.
I can’t find it in me to care.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Halloween Night: Present
My brother doesn’t come to the door.
It doesn’t matter. The damn thing is unlocked. Trey stands guard, but when he sees us, he moves aside without a word.
I walk into my brother’s room.
It’s the same size as mine. I know he also uses the penthouse too, sometimes, but he liked being above me. Turns out, he had liked being above me in more ways than one, but I’d never before known the sick irony of it until now.
Lucifer slams the door closed, the lock clicking behind us. I scan the entrance hall, looking for any signs of which room my brother might be in.
I can smell liquor and the sharp tang of wine, like bottles have broken somewhere in the room. I set the guns down by the door, keeping only my knife. I don’t care if Jeremiah gets his hands on one of the weapons. I know he’ll likely have his own in here anyway.
Lucifer stands at my side.
“Jeremiah!” I scream, letting my knife scrape down the hall, along the walls. “Come out and play with your sister!” I taunt, my voice loud, my throat raw.
Nothing.
Silence answers me.
I pass room after room, making my way to the back of the unit, and then I see the last door is ajar. His bedroom door.
I hadn’t been in here much during my year at the Rain mansion, but I know it’s his. The smell of alcohol is sharper here, and I kick the door all the way open.
“Jeremiah?” I call out. “Are you ready to play?”
I step inside without waiting for an answer. I glance at Lucifer over my shoulder, and he nods, correctly reading my look.
I don’t want him to come in until Jeremiah knows I’m in here.
I flip on the light inside my brother’s room and let my eyes adjust. Immediately, I see the balcony door is open. His bed is made, all white and red sheets and comforters. There are, indeed, liquor bottles smashed on the floor, rivers of pink champagne and brown liquid forming a disgusting puddle by the balcony door. I’m thankful I’m wearing my combat boots.
“Sid,” Lucifer calls softly to me. He leans against the doorway.
I raise a brow, impatient. Ready to get to my brother.
“Be careful. I won’t wait long.”
I smile at him. “I know,” I whisper.
And then I carefully step over the spilled liquor and broken glass, and shove my way onto the balcony, nudging the door open wider as I do.
Jeremiah is sitting in a leather chair, ankle over knee.
He has a glass dangling from his fingertips, full of something clear. Vodka, probably.
He glances up at me, his pale green eyes widening, just a fraction of a second. He has a mask on, a masquerade-type thing, all black and only covering around his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He looks almost like Batman.
If Batman was into his sister and fucking up her world.
“You came,” he whispers, almost as if he doesn’t believe I’m here. As if he thinks I’m a ghost.
I grip the knife tighter in my hand but don’t raise it.
I underestimated how much it would hurt to see him again. How it would feel like getting stabbed in the chest all over again after two weeks apart. And that sick feeling is back. I think I might vomit again.
I stumble to the railing of the balcony, the knife falling from my hand onto the cement floor, my fingers curling along the edge of the balcony, my head hanging off the side.
In an instant, Jeremiah is up out of his seat and his hand is gentle on my back.
And for an instant, I don’t shove him off. For a second, I pretend he’s my big brother again. I pretend he’s the same guy who cleaned my foot. Who told me he loved me. Who had been looking for me for fourteen years. Who saved me from the devil.
But the second passes.
And so does the moment.
Because that’s all a lie.
I spin around, knocking his hand away from me. He still holds his glass of vodka, and I rip it from his hand and throw it against the wall of the balcony, where it shatters behind him. I see, beyond him, Lucifer stepping into my brother’s room, his blue eyes wide and frantic until they find me.
I regret throwing the glass.
I’m not ready to share my brother’s suffering yet.
But Jeremiah just stands there, staring at me. Blinking. I notice, in the dim light from the balcony, that the whites of his eyes are red.
“What have you done to us?” I scream at him, the knife still on the concrete. I kick it aside. I don’t want to use a blade. I want to use my bare hands.
I lunge for him, slamming him against the wall, glass beneath our shoes.
“What have you fucking done?” I scream again, hitting him, my hands flying over his chest, over his suit, my nails digging into his neck, his face. I slap him, again and again and again, and he takes it, unmoving, all while his eyes stay glued to mine. It’s a different kind of torture. I want him to fight back. I want him to hit me, too. I want him to resist. To argue with me, cut me down, like he used to.
I know he’s drunk.
I can smell the vodka on his breath. It’s like he’s drowned in it. And his eyes are bleary. He’s barely standing upright as I attack him, over and over and over. And he could have seen Lucifer. I know he could have. He could have glanced at him, right then. But he didn’t. I don’t know if he truly hasn’t seen him, or if he just doesn’t care anymore.
I slap him one more time, the sound ringing in the night, his head twisting sideways.
I put my hands down, breathless.
“Fucking say something!” I scream at him. The words come out on a sob. I take a step back, the glass crunching under my boot.
Someone clears their throat. All three of us whirl around at the same time.
Monica.
The bartender. Of course she would have a key. She has two bottles of vodka in her hands, and she looks around at all of us, at Jeremiah’s red face, at the scratches down his neck. His skewed mask, nearly knocked off of his face from my attack. At Lucifer.
�
�I, um…” she gestures with the bottles, her eyes finding mine.
“It’s okay, Monica,” I say, the first words I’ve spoken since I’ve arrived that aren’t angry. “Just…” I shrug. “Just leave them on the bed.”
She opens her mouth, closes it again, then nods. Her eyes find Lucifer again, and her gaze lingers on him a second too long. Jealousy lights up my gut.
“On the bed, Monica,” I hiss, harsher than I mean to.
She nods again, tearing her eyes away from Lucifer, and steps back into the room. I wait until I hear the front door to Jeremiah’s unit click behind her.
I look back at my brother.
But it seems he catches sight of Lucifer for the first time. His eyes narrow. He shoves the mask off of his face and makes to step toward him.
I shove his chest, pushing him back against the wall.
“I’m going to kill him,” he says to me, pointing in his direction. “I’m going to kill Lucifer.” His words stumble, slur.
I laugh. “Lucifer is the least of your concern,” I mock him. “Brooklin is downstairs with the rest of the Unsaints. She’ll be safe if you listen to me.”
He lowers his hand and looks down at me, his eyes shining. “I don’t care about Brooklin,” he spits.
And in that moment, I know he’s telling the truth. This isn’t a bluff. He was just using her.
“I care about you, Sid.” He shakes his head and presses the palm of his hand to his eyes. “He’s going to take you from me, isn’t he?” he asks quietly. “He’s always been good at getting what he wants.”
I laugh out loud. “You fucking idiot,” I hiss. “You took me away from you. You fucked me up, Jeremiah!” I punch his chest again, beating on it with the heel of my hand. “You fucked me up!” I hang my head, and he presses his hands against my back.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” Lucifer growls. But I wave him off.
I rest my head against Jeremiah’s chest. Nothing will save us. Nothing will fix this. But the sobs rip through me, and I can’t move. Tears blind my vision, burning with the makeup near my eyes and I still can’t move.
Can’t think.
“Oh my God,” Jeremiah says against my hair. “What the fuck have I done?” He pulls me closer, and at the feel of him, of my body pressed against his, I stiffen.
Lucifer notices.
He’s between us in a second, pulling me off of my brother, pointing the gun at his chest. He wraps a possessive arm around me.
“I’m not sorry,” he says to me. “I won’t let you do this.”
I try to squirm out of his arms. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I know what Jeremiah has done. That he’s lied to me. That he’s nearly done the worst thing a brother could do to their little sister. I know it, and yet I still want to get to him. To hold him one last time. Because it will be the last time.
I beat against Lucifer’s chest, but he’s like a rock, unmoving, the gun in his hand unwavering.
Jeremiah’s face is equal parts rage and grief. He hates Lucifer, that much is clear, but he wants to get to me, and Lucifer has me.
“I am so sorry, Sid,” he says, swallowing, tears lining his cheeks, clinging to his lashes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I try to reach for him again and Lucifer holds me back, his fingers digging into my upper arm.
“Let her go,” my brother pleads, shaking his head. “Let her go, man.”
Lucifer laughs. “Fuck no,” he growls. He cocks the gun. “I never fucking trusted you. None of us trusted you. You were never one of us.” He lets that dig in deep. “Get out of here. Leave this place to her. Leave all of it to her.”
“I don’t want it—” I start to say, stiffening in Lucifer’s arms. I don’t want this place. It was horror. Trauma.
I expect Jeremiah to laugh. To tell Lucifer to go to hell, where he belongs. Where all of us belong.
Instead, he smiles.
“I already did.”
Silence.
I stop moving. It feels like Lucifer has stopped breathing. The tears stop falling from my brother’s green eyes.
“It’s yours, Sis.”
The word makes me feel sick all over again. I don’t want to get to him again, to touch him again. I don’t know why I did before.
“It’s yours. All of it. Order of Rain is yours. The men are yours. The staff is yours. And there’s plenty of money in the bank account to pay for it for decades to come. You don’t have to do anymore dirty work. The cops won’t come for you because it’s all halted now, unless you want to continue it.” He sighs, his chest heaving. “It’s yours, Sid.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Lucifer asks him. I’m glad someone does. I can’t get the words out.
Jeremiah’s eyes narrow on Lucifer. “Fuck you and the Unsaints. This is all hers. I changed the title, the money, the accounts. All of this,” he gestures vaguely with one hand, “it belongs to Sid Rain. She’ll have more than all of you. She won’t need you. And don’t you dare think of taking any of it for yourself or I will fucking cut you into tiny pieces—”
Lucifer laughs, cutting off my brother’s words. “Go fuck yourself.”
I swipe a hand over my face. “Why?”
Jeremiah offers me a small, pained smile. “You deserve it. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I need to leave, Sid. I have to get away from here. From…from you. Because he—” he darts a glance at Lucifer, “—is going to take you from me. The Unsaints will own you. They own everyone they catch. And I can’t watch that happen.”
I want to scream at him some more. I want to tell him that he took himself away from me. That all this, all this hell, he had set it ablaze.
But I don’t say anything at all.
Jeremiah just stares at me.
“Let me hold you. One last time, Sid?”
Lucifer’s grip on me tightens. He’s no longer pointing the gun at my brother, but it’s by his side.
“No,” Lucifer answers for me.
I look up at Lucifer, pleading with him. I see his indecision. His confusion. I feel it, too. Why I want this monster’s hands on me again, I don’t know. But this is a night of lasts. For me, for Jeremiah. For Lucifer.
Lucifer’s lip curls. “Why, Sid?”
“Please,” I breathe.
He sighs.
“Okay,” he forces himself to say, wincing as if the word physically hurts him. He takes his arm out from around me. “Okay,” he whispers again.
I touch my fingers to his lips, his skeleton paint smeared, and then I turn to my brother.
But before we can cross the balcony floor to one another, glass and a small river of vodka from what Jeremiah had been drinking beneath us, Lucifer shoves me aside and lunges for my brother, balling Jeremiah’s shirt in his fist.
“She might not know better. She might be wrecked. But I’m not. I’ve seen you for what you are. You are a piece of fucking filth. You do not deserve to live.” And he aims the gun in my brother’s gut. “This isn’t just her vengeance, you know. You betrayed us. No one gets to do that and live.”
I freeze.
Lucifer glances back at me, Jeremiah is crumpled over, getting ready for Lucifer to pull the trigger.
“No,” I manage to say, shaking my head. “No…please, Lucifer.” I swallow, my throat dry. My mouth dry. “No.”
Lucifer’s eyes close, as if he’s wrestling with himself. Wrestling with Lucifer. Wrestling with Lilith. With me. With Jeremiah.
He wants to kill him. I know he does. I understand why. Jeremiah fucked with the Unsaints. He was one of them, and he betrayed them.
But I can’t let him do this.
If I do, I’ll never forgive myself.
Never forgive him.
Lucifer drops the gun. I breathe a sigh of relief.
But then he cocks his fist back, and I hear it connect with Jeremiah’s nose. Jeremiah stumbles backward, against the wall of the balcony.
I call Lucifer’s name, but he either doesn’t hear m
e or doesn’t care. He rains down blows all over Jeremiah’s body, most of his focus on his head. Jeremiah doesn’t even cover himself. He takes it. He slumps against the wall, sliding down into the broken glass and he lets Lucifer beat the shit out of him.
His head snaps one way and then the other underneath Lucifer’s fists, and then Lucifer drags my brother back to his feet and hits him again. For a moment, they stand there, Jeremiah’s face oozing blood again, both of them heaving.
I’m frozen. I want to run to my brother. I want to run to Lucifer.
I stay where I am.
And then Lucifer drags Jeremiah over to the balcony railing. Fear spills over me like ice water. Lucifer squats down, lifts my brother by his waist, and holds him over the balcony.
Eight floors up.
He might survive the fall. But it won’t be pretty.
My hands are over my mouth, but I need to get a grip on myself. Lucifer is going to kill my brother. My brother, horrible and broken and twisted as he is, is about to die.
His hand tightens on Lucifer’s arm, and there is fear in his bloodied eyes. But he doesn’t say a word. He only looks to me.
“Lucifer,” I whisper, unable to move. I’m worried if I get closer, Lucifer will toss him over before he loses his nerve. I wonder if the Unsaints planned this all along.
Lucifer is glaring down at my brother, hatred in his eyes. His jaw is clenched, and he’s still breathing hard. Blood coats his knuckles. Jeremiah’s blood.
“Lucifer,” I say again, bringing my hands to my side. I try to swallow. “Lucifer, please don’t.”
He still doesn’t look at me. But Jeremiah does. His eyes seem to be pleading, but not for mercy. Maybe forgiveness. His bloodied face is full of sorrow. A grief I feel, too, deep in my bones. We will never go back to what we were. And what we were hadn’t been good in the first place. We were broken beyond repair.
“Lucifer.”
I hold my breath, waiting. Hoping I can still reach him.
Slowly, mercifully, he turns to me. His blue eyes are so cold.
“Don’t,” I say softly, shaking my head. “Please don’t.”
At those words, something in his gaze softens. I see his grip loosen on my brother, and I worry he’ll drop him without meaning to.