Page 67 of Sadistic

"Who knows? She's barely eating, according to Dad. Just stays in the kitchen baking things no one eats." Dalla laughs bitterly. "Apparently we have seventeen different kinds of cookies at the house right now. The freezer's full of banana bread."

"Stress baking. Remember when Bjorn got shot? She made enough bread to feed the entire club for a month."

"Or when Everly left Dylan? Cupcakes for days." Dalla's smile is sad. "This is different though. This is guilt baking. This is 'I failed to protect my daughter' baking."

"She didn't fail?—"

"Didn't she? Didn't they both?" Dalla's voice cracks slightly. "Dad knew this was a possibility when we were born. Then Mom found out when we were teenagers, and they had twenty years to figure out an alternative. I’m pissed because Dad had twenty years to save money, make different alliances, find another way. Instead, he just what... hoped it wouldn't happen."

I don't have an answer for that.

Because she's right.

Our parents knew the deal they'd made, knew it would come due eventually.

And still they'd raised us like normal girls, let us believe we'd have choices.

Let us go to college, date, plan futures that were never really ours to plan.

"They're fighting," Dalla adds quietly. "Dad didn't say it, but I could tell. He tried to sound normal, but there were these long pauses, like Mom was saying things he didn't want me to hear. She blames him. He blames himself. Everyone blames everyone except the actual fuckers responsible."

"You mean Doran."

"I mean the whole fucking system. The Bratva, the Irish, the MC, all of it." She pulls her knees up to her chest, making herselfsmall the way she does when she's really upset. "Did you know Ingrid's been calling me?"

"What? Why?"

"To check on you. To make sure you're okay." Dalla shakes her head. "Can you believe that? The girl whose heart got broken is checking onyou."

"She's not a bitch," I say automatically.

"I know she's not. That's what makes it worse." My sister sighs. "She called me a bitch last time, and honestly? I probably deserved it. She's just another casualty in all this bullshit. First Bjorn pushes her away after his leg, treating her like she's weak for wanting to help. Then Njal uses her as a placeholder, probably promising her things he was never going to deliver on..."

"She deserved better than both of them."

"We all deserve better than this life." Dalla's quiet for a moment, picking at the label on the wine bottle. "Remember when we were kids? How we used to plan our futures? You were going to be a Supreme Court justice. I was going to cure cancer."

"You still could."

"Could I? Because right now I can barely get through a rotation without wanting to quit. I really want to do the fashion thing. Sure, maybe med is practical, but what if I don’t want to be practical? Ugh, fuck it." She looks at me. "Speaking of people making bad life choices, did you know Njal went AWOL?"

I freeze, wine glass halfway to my lips. "What, when?"

"Left his cut on his bed and disappeared. That's what Ingrid heard anyway." She watches me carefully. "You really didn't know?"

He left his cut on his bed?

That’s insanity… that’salmostlike he’s abandoning the club.

Fuck, it isn’t almost anything.

It’s exactly what he’s doing.

Me being with Doran is really fucking with him, and I don’t think he’s okay.

I… I know I contributed to this, and I feel like he’s not of sound mind right now.

"No, I..." But that's not entirely true. Doran had seemed tense this morning, checking his phone more than usual during the drive.