Page 35

Veronica

“O h, my god!”

Shiro’s voice shudders, barely a breath, yet thick with shock, fear, and anger that simmers low in his chest. His eyes are wider than she has ever since them as they track down her face, taking in every bruise, every cut, every fucking print Marlene left behind on her face. His eyes brew with a storm, emotions colliding, warring in the once brilliant orbs.

His white Biao Wang backpack slips off his shoulders, hitting the porch with a loud thud.

Veronica’s grip tightens on the door as she waits, not so excited for the inevitable—his outrage, pity, the way he would want to look at her like something fragile, breakable…a victim.

“Well, are you coming in anytime soon?” Her voice is low, hoarse, as the words scrape out, dragging pain with them. Seven little words and each felt like she was swallowing a glass.

Shiro is still too shocked to move as his jaw clenches tight, a muscle ticking furiously.

Tired of holding the door open for him, she releases her grip and turns away, shoulders stiff, body aching. But before she can reach the three-seater couch, he is there, as though he teleported. He crouches in front of her, hands hovering over her swollen and bruised face, shaking, before finally pressing on her jaw gently.

But she jerks away. His touch is too warm, too gentle. And she doesn’t deserve it.

“This isn’t fair.” His voice is ragged, torn. His hands fall helplessly to his lap, curling into a fist so tight his knuckles go bone-white.

“Look at you.” He sucks in air, his eyes turning glossy. “How could she do this to you?” He trembles with restraint. “I’m not gonna keep quiet on this one.”

Her stomach knots.

“Don’t.” The word flies out, frantic, her hands cutting through the air between them as though she’s trying to swat away the thought he is having in his head.

Shiro stands abruptly as if trying to shake off something. “I need to take you to the doctor.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes grow wide with horror. “You know fucking well I can’t go to some doctor.”

“You need medical attention, Veronica.”

“They’ll ask questions.” She shakes her head, the sharpness in her voice sending a jolt of pain to her jaw. “You know they will.”

Shiro exhales loudly, shoving his hands into his hair. The careful strand of a few seconds ago stands on end like he has been electrocuted. That’s him when there’s anger inside him but he doesn’t know where to place it.

The silence stretches as Shiro paces the room, muttering a series of curse words in Japanese under his breath.

“She was right, you know.” The words leave her mouth, barely audible.

“What?” he whispers, pausing.

Veronica sinks further into the couch, the cushions swallowing her whole. “I know you wanna take her down so badly, but it turns out she was right all along.”

The furrow in his brows deepens, his jaw working. “What are you talking about exactly?”

“I’m just like him.” The salt of her sudden tears as they trail over her open cuts stings like hell.

“No, you’re not.”

“I tried to kill her.” The confession rings across the room, heavy, deafening. “I went to her room with a knife. I stabbed the bed, over and over. Hoping she’s there so I could make her scream, make her beg, make her bleed the way she had made me bleed for years.” Her chest heaves, breath ragged. “I tried to kill her.”

The weight of the truth makes her dizzy. She can’t look at Shiro, can’t bear to see the horror in his eyes, the disgust twisting his features.

If she hears a movement right now, it will be him leaving.

But the couch dips, instead, heat pressing into her side, his arms curling around her, solid and grounding.

“You’re not like him.” His voice is low and steady. “Anyone would have done the same thing. Trust me, if she walks in here right now, I’m driving a knife to her chest.”

Liar.

Shiro wouldn’t do that. Not the same Shiro that has let a spider live in his bathroom for days because he’s too kind to kill the creature. Not the Shiro who apologizes to furniture when he bumps into them.

He will never hurt another soul.

But it turns out, she can now.

A normal person wouldn’t have done what she did. No, they wouldn’t charge into their stepmother’s room to drive a knife into her heart and hope to hear the sick, wet sound of tearing flesh and splattering blood.

No one but her.

No one but a killer.

“She wasn’t there,” she murmurs, picking at her arm warmer. “I don’t know where she slept, but it wasn’t at home.”

If she had been there…

“If she was there.” Her voice trembles at what her reality would have been right now if she had killed Marlene—sirens blaring, cops littering the lawn, just like ten years ago at House 4797, Rue Augustin Boulevard. “I would have killed her. I would have been just like dad. They would put me in cuffs. They would take me far away.”

Shiro doesn’t say a word. But his arms tighten around her, his fingers rubbing slow circles on her arm.

And all she can think is, why isn’t he running away from her? Why is he still hanging out with the daughter of a serial killer?

It is 10:30 a.m. when the doorbell rings. Veronica refused to go and see a doctor so Shiro had to run down to the nearest pharmacy to get supplies for a thorough first aid treatment.

She walks to the door assuming he has come back. Although somewhere at the back of her mind, she wonders why he has come back so quickly. He left barely ten minutes ago, and the closest thing to a pharmacy is about a ten to fifteen-minute drive.

When she opens the door, for a fleeting moment, she wants to be relieved. She even almost is because his scent, crisp and familiar, reaches her first. But then he steps fully into her line of vision and the air shifts, thickening with something suffocating, something cruel. And when she looks up at him, her breath catches.

It’s still not Raidon.

The dark soulless gaze of Kael collides with hers, and disappointment knots her stomach.

He doesn’t wait for an invitation. He strides in like he owns the place, not caring that she clearly doesn’t want him here or around her.

“I need to see him,” she says, shutting the door and crossing over to the living room.

Kael slides his hands into his pocket, the diamond watch on his wrist catching the light. He tilts his head, gaze raking over her face, and something dark flickers behind his eyes, his jaw clenched.

“You need a doctor.” His voice is low, but the edge in it slices deep.

“I’m fine,” she grits out. “I want to see him.”

His lips twitch, his brow lifting in mock confusion “See who, exactly?”

“You know who?”

He tuts, taking a slow step forward. “You’re hurting my feelings again, ladybird.”

The air shifts again, heavier, more dangerous as he draws closer, until his body heat begins to seep into hers, until she can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Here I am.” His voice tinge with something possessive, something unhinged. “All of me, standing in front of you. And yet, you’re asking for another.”

His hand rises, his palm cupping her cheek.

“Let me see him,” she pleads, a shiver skating down her spine. “Please.”

His jaw twitches, anger flashing in his eyes. Then his hand slides from her cheek, wrapping around her throat.

“He’s not coming.”

Her chest tightens. “Why?”

“He’s never coming back.”

The words land like a punch to her ribs. She barely registers the pain in the jaw with every word spoken anymore. What does he mean Raidon, her sweet, sweet Raidon is…gone?

Kael leans in, his warm lips grazing her ear, his breath warm and laced with cruelty. “We made a deal.” His thumb rubs on the vein flexing below her right ear. “And I won.”

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs his lips.

“I told you, you were mine, ladybird.” His grip tightens, just enough to make her gasp. “You didn’t think I was bluffing, did you?”

A soft chuckle echoes from his lips.

“If you were not already doing that, then from now on, I’m the only man you will ever think about.” His lips brush the tiny blister on her right jaw, her eyes fluttering as heat licks at her skin. “In every waking moment, every lonely night when you wanna be wrapped in someone’s arms, you will fucking think about me.”

Her pulse stutters beneath the weight of his fingers.

“Don’t let another man get in my way,” the darkness in his voice grows, and her heart hammers against her ribs. “Raidon did, and that’s why I got rid of him.”

“W-what?”

“Shhh.” He cuts her off, dragging his thumb across her lower bottom lip. Then he pulls her face closer, claiming her mouth in a bruising kiss. It’s possessive, all-consuming, brands seared into the soul. By the time he pulls away, her lungs are heavy, her lips raw.

Panting against her lips, he studies her for a moment. Then suddenly, he slowly releases his hand from her throat, stepping away.

He straightens his cuffs like nothing happened, like he didn’t just set her world on fire.

“I’m going back to Russia,” he says, smoothing out his shirt. “Will be gone for a little while. But, don’t worry, I’ll be back before you miss me.”

Then he turns toward the door, walking away, his steps lithe and powerful. By the doorstep, he pauses. “I’m watching you, ladybird. Smile at another man and I’ll fucking hang him on a cross.”

With that, he’s gone like the wind, leaving behind the scent of whiskey and the echo of his dark promise.