Page 29

YOU’RE NOT HELPING

ALEX

Declan

I get you’ve been in a psychiatric ward for the past couple of years, but some things haven’t changed. You still can’t throw knives at people in the middle of a carnival.

Kole

Marco had it coming.

Declan

Which is why the second Alex left the ward, I told him he was more than welcome to drag Marco to the basement and take care of it. But at a carnival in front of half the town?

Alex

Is this you fishing for an apology, Dec? Because you’re not going to get one.

Kole

At least they already think he’s insane. Makes me wish I’d taken my time with Liam.

Declan

It’s better you didn’t. Making a spectacle gets messy. Or have you forgotten the Nixon situation?

Kole

Speaking of things that were satisfying…

Declan

You’re not helping.

Alex

And you’re forgetting half the shit I helped you clean up this past year. I seem to recall dismembering a House member in Teal’s art studio because someone decided to be poetic with his girlfriend. The least you could have done is choose the basement. It has a drain.

Declan

She’s my wife.

Of course, that’s the part Declan focuses on. Correcting me on his relationship status.

Alex

You get my point.

Declan

What’s the damage?

Alex

Marco’s alive.

Unfortunately.

Or not?

I haven’t decided yet.

Declan

How long do you plan on allowing that to continue?

Alex

Until he’s learned his lesson.

Kole

Please, keep going with this lesson. I’m appreciating the entertainment.

Declan

Stop encouraging him. You don’t need entertainment. You need to focus on your task in LA. How is it going?

Kole

We’re on track. But it’s slow given Jacob’s distraction.

Declan

He’ll get it done. In the meantime, Alex, try to keep shit under control. And if you can’t, just drag Marco to the basement and end it. I’ll figure out how to make the problem disappear.

Alex

In due time.

We end our conversation, and I shove my phone back into my pocket.

Marco is lucky he’s still breathing. The only reason I’m allowing that to continue is my sick curiosity.

I know Declan will hold to his promise when I decide that’s no longer necessary, whether it goes against his new House rules regarding members or not.

Marco helped his father with plenty before we took him down.

If I’d have given the okay, Declan would have ousted Marco with him in that initial wave, but I asked him to hold off .

The only person who is going to deal with Marco is me. And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

Declan can complain about my methods, but he won’t break his promise. He owes me for how I helped Teal when she tried to kill herself when she was sixteen.

At the time, his hands were tied by family obligations. Which is why I stepped in and looked out for her when he couldn’t. And honestly, even if I wasn’t doing him a favor, I still would’ve been there for Teal.

She is one of few people who saw past my bullshit growing up. Who understood what it’s like to be hollow inside. It’s why she would still come see me when she had therapy appointments at Montgomery. She knew that even in my silence, I wouldn’t judge her.

I don’t care for many people, but I always liked Teal, so I’m glad she’s getting better. She’s finding peace with Declan, and her doctors have her on medication that’s working.

I wonder what it’s like to be treatable.

For the sickness to be chemical. For the shadows to be calmed by a pill when mine always demanded blood. No matter how many combinations my doctors tried, nothing worked. What’s wrong with me is molecular.

There’s no quieting it, and there’s no getting it out.

“Clean your hands. You’re a fucking mess.” Dad circles the chair in his office and tosses a handkerchief at me.

I don’t bother picking it up as I drop into the chair facing him. The rag is barely big enough to clean the blood from one hand, much less the brain matter chunks on my shirt.

Dad makes a steeple of his fingers, watching me. To anyone else, the downturn in his lips might be read as disappointment, but I know that expression. He’s weighing his options. Deciding whether I’m too much trouble or still of use.

If he decides to call Captain Evans and report me, it’s only a matter of time before the cops show up.

Or worse, he could turn me over to Sigma House.

I did beat one of their members to a bloody pulp, and even if the asshole fucking deserved it, that doesn’t really matter when it comes to Sigma Sin.

The question now is what will my father do about this?

He knows it’s not the first time I’ve snapped, and he knows it won’t be the last. I’m a liability. So even if I’m also a convenient resource when he deems it necessary, there’s always a risk he’ll decide he’s had enough.

The corner of his mouth curls, and amusement plays on his face. He’s going to show me mercy—again. I’m starting to wish he wouldn’t.

“We talked about this, Alex.”

“We did,” I deadpan. “And yet, your wife still let that happen.”

“ Your mother was helping the new minister get acquainted with the town. She didn’t know Ian’s intentions with your sister.”

“Bullshit. That asshole has been watching Patience since the first time she stepped through the church doors months ago.”

I saw it.

Dad saw it.

And Mom, blinded by her false faith and always worshipping the congregation like they’re gods, used it to her advantage.

“She feels terrible things happened the way they did.” Dad forgives her like he always does because my mother is his singular weakness. “Besides, there’s no point arguing it now that the problem is dead.”

His glare is an imaginary blade pressed tight against my artery, daring me to talk back or defy him. But as terrible as my father can be, he’s always looked out for me. He’s the only reason I haven’t been locked up already.

So I keep quiet .

He still believes he can tame “this behavior,” as he likes to call it. It’s the only option. Unpredictability doesn’t bode well for Sigma Sin, and that’s the only future he’ll allow me to have. If I can’t get my head together to join their ranks, what will I be worth to him?

Nothing.

I’d care if I could control the sickness from spreading. But what he holds at bay is only getting worse. And after Ian put his hands on my sister, nothing could stop it from breaking out.

“I know you think you can’t control what’s inside you, Alex. But trust me, you can.” Dad levels me with his gaze. “We can direct it. We can make this work for us.”

What he means is we can make it work for the House because that’s all that really matters to him.

“You could be our greatest tool yet.” He leans back, the gleam in his eyes telling me he’s praising himself.

“What about the minister?”

“It’s already being taken care of. I hear he had to leave town.” Dad brushes it off like nothing.

The House preaches brotherhood above all, but only some members actually have to follow it. Never those who pull the strings. Never those with the real power.

“There’s only one remaining loose string. It will be easy enough to tie off with your help,” Dad says. “We’re going to redirect your attention.”

“How?”

“When you can’t smother a fire, what’s the next best thing?”

“To let it burn?”

He shakes his head. “To set a perimeter and contain it. So let’s do that… I’m sending you on a trip.”

“Where am I going?”

“Oregon.” Dad taps his fingers on the chair. “There’s someone up there we need dealt with. ”

My fingers dig into the leather armrests as I settle back into my mind. Sweat beads on the back of my neck.

It’s getting harder to contain this anger now that I’m back at Sigma House.

Memories flash.

Ghosts clatter.

Then there’s Marco, fucking with Mila and testing the last fibers of my patience.

Maybe Declan is right, and I should just deal with him already. But part of me thought I’d walk out of Montgomery a different man. One in control.

I tried.

I resisted.

Now I’ve snapped, and I don’t regret it.

Marco’s blood spilled over my hands, and I bathed in the warmth. He deserved it for hurting her.

Too bad Mila didn’t seem to appreciate Marco’s screaming as much as I did. Her warm cheeks paled, and her green eyes widened with fear as she watched her ex-boyfriend’s blood drip down my arm.

That’s likely why Mila is ignoring my texts today. Probably in an attempt to prove to herself that she can resist this.

She can’t.

I warned her when I fucked her—when I explained in detail what I did to Oxy—there is no walking away from me.

There’s no cutting this off now that it’s started. Like there’s no pulling the sickness from my veins. I’m the poison in her bones, the cure to her desires, and I won’t stop infecting her until she can’t survive without me.

I sit back in my chair and watch the Sigma House party slowly start to devolve. If it weren’t for Declan needing me to keep an eye on things while he’s in Paris for the summer, I’d disappear to my room. But I promised to give the illusion of giving a shit in his absence.

It’s times like these that I miss the silence of the psychiatric ward.

As the room continues to fill, people keep their distance. Even Maddox, who I don’t have any problems with personally, doesn’t try to walk over. After the carnival last night, the members of the house are walking on eggshells, wondering what will make me snap next.

I don’t blame them, given the thoughts I have every time I glance down at the razor blade sitting beside a pile of coke on the coffee table.

All it would take is one nick at the corner of Marco’s eyelid to peel it free. I could visit him in the hospital and force him to watch while he suffers for everything he’s done to my angel.

One of the benefits of having a father like mine is that I learned at a young age the most effective ways to torture a person.

Staring at the razor a moment longer, I imagine all the ways I could use that small sliver of metal to make Marco pay. Maybe then Mila will see the picture I’m painting. The need that courses through me.

There’s no escape for either of us.

Maddox bumps into the coffee table, sending a cloud of coke into the air. He’s a fucking mess, with his pupils pinpricks and his stare vacant. Declan only puts up with it because Maddox is a brilliant chemist who can mix disturbingly lethal weapons.

A topless girl runs up to Maddox’s side. She leans forward to snort a line of coke, dragging her tits through the pile of drugs. Something Maddox doesn’t seem to mind when he pulls her up and drags her out of the room.

I fucking hate it here.

I’m about to leave when a figure in the doorway stops me.

She wants to ignore me.

She wants to run.

But she can’t.

Mila is mine now, and she came just like I knew she would.