Page 69 of Devoured

CHAPTER 19

Roland

I leaned out of the shower and checked my phone.Iris Weaver is requesting entry, the text message said.Do you wish to accept?

Yes, I sent. I indulged in the scalding hot water for a few more seconds, enjoying the way it made my head buzz. It was the little things that you had to enjoy in narcotic sobriety, like water so hot your heart rate spiked. I finished up, then wrapped a towel around my waist, my hair wet and messy, and found Iris waiting in the living room. Her eyes hovered over me. Yeah. I liked that look on her face. Fuck my clothes.

“What a pleasant surprise,” I joked.

“I can come back later,” she said, grabbing her purse, her eyes still glued to my body.

“Stay.”

That word hovered in my mouth, made my tongue dry, but I ignored it. I took a seat on the long tufted sofa, facing her on the matching loveseat, the one I had choked her over. The scab was gone now, replaced by faint pink lines, almost like another tattoo. She rubbed her nose, then those big eyes blinked up at me. Eyes that could bring a man to his knees, and kill him.

If she was here because she wanted to talk about everything, then maybe this was the day she was going to officially ask me to stay. Which is why I brought up something I had done a long time ago.

“I looked up your parents,” I said. “Your biological ones.”

A subtle sneer crossed her face. “Why would you do that?”

“Curiosity.”

I waited for a moment, studying her. Her features relaxed, then curiosity got the best of her too.

“What did you find out?” she asked.

“Your mother is still on and off the streets. Every once in a while, she’ll pick up a job, but then she’ll be back on the streets again, turning tricks.”

Iris grunted. “Sounds about right.”

“Does she ever visit you at the Dahlia District?”

Her eyes flicked away. “If she knew where I was, I’m sure she’d visit only when she needed something.”

“Money?”

“What else is a daughter good for,” she muttered.

My upbringing was a cakewalk in comparison. “Your father is—”

“I don’t care about him,” she snapped.

“So you do care about your mother, then?”

“My father left when I was a baby. My mom at leasttriedfor a few years.” Iris shrugged. “He was a sperm donor. Nothing more.”

“Do you still talk to your foster parents?”

“No.”

I had looked them up too; the information you could get your hands on when you had money was ridiculous. Everyone had a price when it came to looking the other way. Her foster parents had been suspended from the foster care system after Iris and the other child left, and the father would be released from prison in another five years.

Iris had been doing well for herself since finding the Dahlia District. I could see why she wanted to keep it.

“What about you?” she asked. “Your parents?”

“Probably enjoying retirement on some Caribbean island,” I said.