Page 19 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

“Wait a minute,” I grit out. Time to start putting some of my theories to the test. “You admitted we weren’t friends before.

How did you even know about all the things Duke did to me?

Was it for the same reason we weren’t really friends before?

Because I’m such a snobby know-it-all who treats other people like they aren’t worth crap? ”

She laughs like I’ve just made the funniest joke of all time.

“We might not have helped each other over the years, but I saw you, Delia. If someone was hungry, you didn’t eat because you gave them your lunch.

If someone needed a jacket, you gave up yours.

” She laughs again at the look of horror on my face.

“Oh, you didn’t think anyone noticed, did you?

That’s because you didn’t advertise it. You weren’t one of those self-righteous creeps, prancing around town like a savior.

No. You never did that. You did right by people, despite the way they treated you.

You weren’t doing it to gain their favor. ”

Swirling acid churns in my gut. It sounds a hell of a lot like Neveah’s rewriting history and hoping that Cordie will blindly agree to it.

It sounds a hell of a lot like she might know just how lonely Cordie’s been all this time.

It sounds a hell of a lot like she’s using it to her advantage.

My twin brother, Luke, watches me and Neveah walk past the fire station with heavy suspicion that I just know is going to bite me on the ass later. He’s going to be a problem. I can feel it.

Wait. I can feel it.

He’s not just looking through Cordie and only seeing Neveah .

I’ve avoided my family like the plague for obvious reasons, but they live in this town, too.

I wave at my own brother with Cordie’s hand. “Hey, Luke! Nice weather we’re having today.”

He nods, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s still looking at me with a harder glint in his eyes than he would at any other woman in town. “Delia. Neveah.”

That’s all he says, but it says enough.

“Feel better yet, Delia?”

It takes everything in me to pretend to slur my words in Cordie’s voice. “Right as rain, bestie. Thanks for this.”

Neveah smiles, satisfied, thinking she’s won.

She hasn’t won shit, but neither have I. I have way more questions than answers.

First of all, how am I stone-cold sober after Neveah paid Wallace to liquor me up?

He’s been sliding whiskey after whiskey across the bar. I’ve been pounding them at Neveah’s insistence, because I can’t afford to give anything away.

Like the fact that I’m not really Cordelia, or how there’s a hell of a lot in this town that doesn’t add up. Most of all, my new theory that Neveah Slacum isn’t Cordie’s friend at all.

She’s an enemy.

Curvy little Cordie McCoy should’ve blacked out from this much whiskey by now. Neveah doesn’t seem to care. She ordered the fresh glass beneath Cordie’s nose.

I pick it up and drink it, like a good little boy.

Neveah turns her attention to the bartender. “Think we’re in the clear?”

Wallace tips his head to the side, but he doesn’t take his attention off me. I can’t make it look too obvious that I’m studying him the same way .

But I am.

The owner of the only bar in town is one of a handful of people who acknowledges Cordie. He’s served her enough alcohol to land her in the hospital, but he hasn’t told a single lie since I sat on this barstool.

I’m not sure whose side he’s on.

I didn’t know there were sides to begin with.

“One way to find out,” he murmurs, giving me that creepy stare. Then, louder, “Delia, darling…what did you do today?” There’s a hint of a challenge in his voice.

I grit Cordie’s teeth at his pet name for her, but I hold her tongue.

I’m not sure if he wants me to admit that I know exactly what I did today.

I dragged Neveah to shop after shop, talked to everyone I could find, asked them to tell me all about the things Cordie thinks I did to her in the past.

Started to notice the way Neveah would mumble something under her breath and then wave her hand before the other person would blink like they were waking up from sleep walking.

Listened carefully as person after person told me more stories about my own damn life that I have no memory of.

Like the time I broke into Cordie’s locker and ripped up all her homework.

Or when I put a dead frog in her backpack.

The sheep fucker rumor came up once or twice.

So did the mafia mattress one.

The worst story came from Betty Lou Greaves, the same town busybody who treated Cordie like shit when I first went to her for help.

With Neveah present, she was all too happy to talk.

She had no problem telling everyone within earshot about that time I asked Cordie to the Sweetheart’s Dance then took Staci Jo Flannery instead.

I thought that was bad enough.

I was wrong.

Staci Jo herself—with her gaggle of kids in tow on their way home from vacation bible school—confirmed Betty Lou’s story.

She had looked right through Cordelia two days ago, but today she said that she felt guilty about being my first girlfriend after she found out what I did to Cordie.

Her memories were as wrong as mine.

Staci Jo wasn’t my first girlfriend. She was the first time I realized just how fucked up I was.

We had sex in the backseat of my car after I took her to the Sweetheart’s Dance. Instead of enjoying myself, I lied to her face.

I always thought she suspected, that she was disappointed about how it turned out.

I had driven her home while trying to hide that I was wheezing through pain like I’d never felt before.

She never talked to me again, and I didn’t blame her.

I couldn’t fight my reaction to that fucking story. If I was in my own body, all those women would’ve revoked my flimsy man card over the tear that slid down Cordie’s cheek.

Luckily, Betty Lou and Neveah thought that meant Cordie had finally heard enough, had come to her senses and promised to stay far, far away from the likes of me.

After I was literally prompted to say those words, Betty Lou ordered Neveah to bring me here to drink away the pain.

A sizzle of energy like a static shock makes the hair on Cordie’s arms stand up.

I glance around, but I can’t figure out where it came from.

My money’s on Neveah.

I’m starting to think the rumors about Granny McCoy were a decoy to hide the real witch in town.

If she’s a witch, then what does that make Wallace? They’re obviously playing the same game, even if I can’t tell whether they’re on the same side. So far, my roster includes them, Betty Lou, Miss Nell, Hope, Savina, and maybe…me and my brothers.

Wallace winks at me. “That’s all right, love. You’ve had quite the day. No need to speak if you require silence to lick your wounds.”

I swear I hear him whisper, “Listen.” His lips never move.

“Explain to me again how we got here.” He turns toward Neveah, dismissing Cordie the way everyone else in town has for the past week, until today .

Neveah glances toward me.

I pretend to slump over the bar and add Wallace to my maybe-ally list.

“I fucked up,” Neveah whispers. “I was assigned to babysit her until she leaves town again, but…hell. Her only family just died! She deserves to grieve in peace without me up her ass.”

Maybe I need to move Neveah off my shit list, too.

“I assume the elders never expected her to run to the last person she’d ever seek comfort from,” Wallace murmurs.

The sound of a glass slamming down onto the bar covers my snort.

“Nope.” Neveah sighs. “They’re as pissed at you as they are at me. The GD is asking a lot of questions about your old Castellaw exemption explanation.”

My ears perk up a little more, but I don’t know what any of this means .

Who are the elders? Betty Lou and Nell? Why am I the last person they think Cordie would turn to for comfort? What’s a GD? What is a Castellaw exemption?

Who the fuck are these people?

“Neveah, Wallace,” a deep, smooth voice says from somewhere above me.

I know exactly who the fuck that is. I slowly peel Cordie’s face away from the bar.

My oldest brother, Cash, stands beside me.

He looks as put together as he always does with his dark hair shorter than mine, combed until not a single one is out of place.

He prefers to be clean-shaven, but this late in the day, he’s got a solid five o’clock shadow.

He blinks rapidly when he sees me—sees Cordelia.

That makes three out of us five brothers who can see her. If they ever noticed her the way I did growing up, they never let on.

A worse thought burrows into my brain. The deeper it digs, the more Cordie’s muscles tighten. Rage swirls in her stomach, white hot and ice cold at the same time.

Have they been whacking off over their own secret fantasies about her?

Cash pulls out the barstool beside me, sitting on it like he plans to stay a while. “I really thought you would’ve left town by now. You don’t look so good.”

Yeah, and I can’t magically sober up after pretending to be drunk for hours. Can’t rip out my brother’s throat over a secret I can’t prove either.

“She’s not doing so good,” Neveah offers from my other side. “Your brother has her under some sort of spell.”

Wallace chuckles behind the bar. “I don’t think Duke has that particular kind of power.”

“Careful,” Cash warns as he glares at Wallace.

Smart man—who’s probably seen his fair share of violence as the owner of the only bar for miles—raises his hands in a gesture of no offense .

Cash leans forward to fix his displeased expression on Neveah. “What’s Duke done?”

I snort. What haven’t I done at this point? The real question is whether any of it actually happened. I’ve always known that I’m a special sort of headcase, but this is something more.

“I don’t know,” Neveah admits. She swings a thumb toward me. “This one’s being awfully tight-lipped about how she ended up working for him.”

Keeping my piehole shut is my only play in this no-win game. And sitting on Cordie’s hands, so I won’t punch my own brother.

“You’re working for him?” Cash asks me, surprise written all over his face.

I nod. Shit, I gotta remember to tell Cordie that’s our newest cover story.

“How’d that come about?” Goddamn Cash with his interrogations. There’s a reason he’s the sheriff.

I shrug. “Needed some extra money. He was willing to hire me.”

“Duke agreed to pay you?” Cash raises his eyebrows like he smells a load of shit, but he’s not sure where it’s coming from.

Probably because he knows damn well that I can barely afford to pay myself.

“Something like that,” I mumble .

“Personally, I think she’s blackmailing him somehow,” Neveah pipes up.

I snap my gaze to her. “Whose fucking side are you on? Because I’m starting to think it’s your own.”

Ah, hell. Should not have said that.

The people surrounding me stiffen.

Wallace flattens his brows, then sighs.

I am blowing this game because I don’t know the fucking rules.

Before I can think about my next move, Cash stands and pulls his handcuffs off his belt loop. “Cordelia. If you’ll come with me, please.”

That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.

I shake Cordie’s head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

“There’s no need to arrest anyone, Sheriff,” Neveah says from behind me. “She’s drunk, not committing a crime.”

“She’s publicly intoxicated and combative,” he answers like he’s reading from a script. “It’s my sworn duty to protect the people of this town.”

“Do what you must, sheriff,” Wallace says calmly.

I shoot him a glare. He’s going back on my enemies list.

“Maybe it’s for the best, Delia.” Neveah pats Cordie’s back. “Look at it this way. You’ll be safer than you’ve ever been while you sleep it off in the drunk tank.”

You know what? Fine. Maybe a little peace and quiet will help me work out half the bullshit that’s happened today.

I stand, pretending to wobble a little on tiny feet. I thrust out her wrists.

Cash’s gaze sweeps me from Cordie’s head to her toes before he focuses on her face. His right eyebrow slowly lifts. I can just tell that he’s wondering if she’s going to enjoy this. Wondering if Cordie likes to be cuffed and bound, at a man’s mercy.

Fuck. Now, I can’t stop imagining it.

Cordie’s wrists tied to my headboard. Her mountain of red hair everywhere.

Cordie’s ankles bound to opposite posts. Her legs spread wide for me and only me.

Her pale, white ass lifted by a silk pillow beneath her hips. Her greedy pussy dripping with the sweetest juice that I’ve never tasted. Ready and waiting for me to stake my claim.

My teeth ache to bite deep into her?—

“Get on with it, Cash,” I croak. “Take me to jail.”

It really might be the safest place for Cordie.

From me, and my dark fantasies.

They’re getting more depraved by the day.