Page 55 of Sleepless Beauties

“Thank you,” I say before striding toward the door.

“Wait!”

I pause at the sound of his urgency. My head turns and I look into those intense floating eyes once more.

“She had a diary.”

My brow lifts.

“You said she didn’t tell you much. Why would she mention a diary?” The skepticism in my voice is clear.

“Maybeshedidn’t mention it. But I can’t tell you that, now can I, pretty human?”

Someone else read her diary.

And told a fucking demonic hostage all about it.

Why?

I’m flinging open the door in an instant and when I step out into the light of the croft, I come face to face with the most serious and stern look I’ve ever seen.

“Do not go in there again,” Rival instructs.

What is with him? Does he just come around to bark orders and reassure everyone that the stick is still firmly in place up his ass?

My arms fold hard as I glare back at him.

“What have you found out so far?”

He adjusts his black sleeves along his fine suit, but he doesn’t immediately answer.

“I’m still lookin’ into it,” is all he says.

“Well, what have you found?”

He looks away, but answers quietly. “I’ve found that Crimson City is not the place for us to speak freely. Like I said, do not visit with the demon again.”

He starts to walk away, but somehow no matter how much of a bastard he always is, it always surprises me to see it up close and personal.

“Did you love her?”

I don’t know why I ask him. Love has no place within a murder plot.

Maybe it can be a catalyst for the act itself, but no matter how much someone is loved, love will never be found within the act itself.

“I cared for Kyra. Very much,” he whispers, surprising me with the rawness of his tone.

I’m still staring after him and thinking of how he kissed me just after he called me by her name as he walks away up the stairs.

He cared for my sister in some capacity. Someone cared for her, so she wasn’t entirely alone here.

But I still hold so much guilt for not being here for her. I’m literally walking around like her own personal ghost in this life that she lived, and I carry that ghostly remorse with me.

Maybe I always will.

Even as I hunt her killer.

Eighteen