Page 43 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

LEILA

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The blank page mocks me.

No matter how fast or hard I rap my pen on the counter, my brain refuses to unload the eight years of questions I know are up there.

There are so many and yet I can’t pin down one.

Frustrated, I toss the pen down and rub both hands over my face.

“Okay, what’s important?” I ask out loud.

I get that I’m not limited to these questions. Dante will answer them even if I think of them later, but what do I want to ask first that I haven’t already?

He already told me I had no parents. No siblings. I was seventeen, which makes me twenty-five. I know my name, which has zero results in a search. I guess no one cares if a foster kid goes missing.

But I keep going back to what Dante said about someone possibly taking me. It’s the only thing that makes the most sense. It explains how I was practically naked and thousands of miles from home when Evan found me .

Or did I run?

Did I catch a ride with the wrong people? But I wouldn’t have left Dante. Not willingly. That’s the only catch. Even despite knowing him a short time, I know I wouldn’t have gone anywhere without him.

Which makes me think of his family. They fostered me. Weren’t they worried when I vanished? Has he told them he found me?

I should call Reed and let him know, and our parents. They’ll be thrilled. For years, Joy and Evan did everything in their power to help find my home. Even Reed tried, using the sheriff’s office resources.

But what about everything else? What about my name and age? Do I need to redo all my ID?

Alia Rivers.

Do I want to be her again?

Who even was she?

I snatch up my pen and start scribbling the questions pouring in. It feels good finally putting them down. Having some jumping off point to go from.

I continue to add to the list as the morning slips into afternoon. I pause only when Dante arrives with lunch from Mama May’s. The Styrofoam containers are dragged from the bag and set on the counter between us .

“Deep fried chicken!” I gasp, giving an excited little wiggle in my seat. “How did you know?”

This man, this grown man who spent the better part of several hours destroying me in every way possible, grins like a little schoolboy.

“I made friends,” he says, so proud of himself.

It’s so sweet, so endearing my heart twists in my chest. “Yeah? Who?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. They smiled and I smiled back. I even got a head nod.”

Sucking my lips together to keep my grin in check, I push to my feet, capture his face and pull him to me.

“I’m proud of you.”

No one understands how hard it is to make friends when you’re new.

When you’re the man out and everyone else has already established foundations.

On my arrival, all the people my age refused to even talk to me.

It was the older crowd, the grandparents who took me under their wings and gave me companionship. So, I get his excitement.

He gives me a lopsided grin before kissing me.

“I asked,” he adds after he pulls back. “Not Mable, but the other girl. The nicer one.”

I roll my eyes even as I retreat back to my seat with my food. “Mable is ... an acquired taste. ”

Dante climbs up onto the counter with his own helping of fully loaded burger and fries. “She hates me.”

I scoff. “Mable hates everyone.” I take a bite of the crispy skin and sink my teeth into the warm, juicy flesh, and groan. “Oh my God, I could eat these all day, every day.”

He nibbles on a fry and watches me with amusement. “I can make that happen.”

I shake my head even as I’m chewing and swallowing. “And I would die before I hit thirty.” I laugh. “Are you trying to kill me?”

His expression turns serious. “Give that back. No more for you.”

“Hey!” I snatch my meal out of his reach. “Back off. It’s not beneath me to stab you for trying to take my food.” I take another bite. “Once in a while is fine, but I have to pace myself.”

He continues to seem uncertain but isn’t trying to steal my food anymore. Instead, his attention is on my list.

“Are these your questions?”

I grab a fistful of napkins and scrub my mouth and hands.

“Just the ones that came to mind.”

He takes the paper and peers over the lines.

“My parents don’t know I found you. I don’t talk to them. No, they didn’t care when you went missing.” His dark eyes lift to my face, a little sad, but mostly angry. “They aren’t good people, baby. It wasn’t you.”

I don’t miss the tickle of disappointment, but I think a part of me expected that; if they cared, they would have tried to reach me when Dante found me.

“I do have siblings. I don’t talk to them either.

” He looks away for a moment, jaw tense.

“We didn’t have the best childhood, Leila.

You were in the system since you were five.

Your mom was an addict. They found you next to her.

” His chin lowers a fraction before lifting to face me.

“She’d been dead a few days. The neighbors called the cops because you wouldn’t stop crying. ”

I set my chicken down. No longer hungry. In fact, the way my stomach is roiling, I might not be hungry for a while.

Dante notices and pushes his food aside to hop to his feet. He circles to my side of the desk and pulls me up into his arms.

“You’re not supposed to be on this side of the counter,” I mumble into his chest.

His fingers comb through my hair. His lips brush the top of my head.

“There is nothing good back there, except us. We had each other. Through all the shit, all the blood and pain.” He holds me tighter. “I’ll tell you everything, but it’s not going to make you feel better. It won’t bring you peace.”

“I don’t know if I need to know to feel better.” I lift my face to peer up at him. “I need to know so I don’t feel like I’m missing half of myself.”

He seems reluctant but gives a slight nod. “What’s next on your list?”

With me still in his arms, he sits, taking me down into his lap. His free hand pinches the paper and brings it over.

“Were you happy? No. Neither of us were. We spent a lot of time away from the house. We’d sneak in after everyone was in bed and leave before anyone got up. We ate when we could get away with stealing it. We were very good at hiding and avoiding ... everyone.”

His fingers twitch against the armrest, scratching the underside lightly with his nails. I keep my head tucked against his shoulder, face half nestled into the side of his neck, but I can feel the heavy thump of his pulse. The tension coiling through his muscles.

And I realize this is new information for me, but a nightmare I’m forcing him to relive, especially given that he’s cut his entire family from his life.

“We don’t have to talk about—”

His head turns and he presses his lips to my forehead in the sweetest, tenderest kiss .

“No. You need this.”

I lift my head so our faces are level. “Not if it makes you sad.”

His chest lifts against mine with his deep inhale. “I’m not sad. It pisses me off. Everything about those days infuriates me. I’m pissed at my parents, my siblings ... at myself. If I had been stronger, you never would have been taken from me.”

It’s so ridiculous, but the vehement tightness in every line of his face has me swallowing down my laugh of disbelief.

“Dante—”

His fingers brush my cheek. “I swear to you, I will never let that happen again.”

I believe him.

It’s hard not to when the fire in his eyes is all consuming.

“Did I have any goals? Dreams? Aspirations?” I ask, pivoting the conversation away from our home life.

“You loved baking.” The corner of his mouth tilts up on one side. “You were terrible at it.”

“Hey!” I laugh.

Dante chuckles. “We’d wait until everyone was in bed and we’d sneak down to the kitchen, and you’d try to bake whatever recipe you found.” He gives his head a slow shake. “It never turned out.”

“I’ll have you know I am very good at it now,” I lie .

He doesn’t look like he disbelieves me, but his smile is the kind you’d give a child claiming they can fly.

“You danced. A lot. Nothing specific, but you loved music and just moving with it. Our dream was to run away when you turned eighteen, get our own place and start a family. That was our goal and aspiration. We were going to figure out the rest once we got away from my family.”

“It was that bad, huh?”

All the warmth slips from his face and he exhales.

“Worse. Our only mission was to get out. We saved every dollar we got our hands on and had enough for first and a downpayment on an apartment. We planned to sleep on the floor until we both got jobs and could buy furniture. You’d joke it would be like camping. ”

“I don’t think I left,” I blurt. “I don’t know how I got here, but I wouldn’t leave you.”

He says nothing a moment while gingerly setting the paper aside and settling his palm flat against my hip.

“If you had, you had every reason to,” he murmurs.

“You went through a lot to stay.” His gaze drops to his hand, to the thumb lightly brushing my hipbone.

“My dad liked little girls,” he says it fast, like it was a weight pushing against his lungs.

“My brother Everett ... he was just a piece of shit. Sadistic and cruel. The kind of monster you see in documentaries. They never touched you,” he adds quickly.

“I wouldn’t let them, and when you got older, you started fighting back and they eventually left you alone. ”

“How old was I when I came to live with you?”

“Thirteen. You were the longest foster kid we’d ever had.”

Because of you, I think. I fought hard to stay so I would be with him. It’s the only explanation.

“Do you think...” I trail off, debating my next set of words, but too curious to backtrack now. “Do you think it was your brother or Dad who took me?”

He immediately shakes his head. “My dad was a drunk asshole, but he was too lazy to drive you two provinces over. Plus, he was home that whole day.”

“Your brother?”

Dante goes quiet. His gaze shifts in the direction of windows.

“It wasn’t Everett.”