Page 137 of Please Open Me
My jaw tensed so hard I had to turn my head to alleviate the pressure. Oh my God. Once again, I cursed whoever taught my brother to fucking speak.
Cameron patted my back twice before grunting and standing up.
“Alright, that’s enough from you.” Without hesitation, he heaved Lucian over his shoulder.
“No, it’s not! A fucking protection order was too much! Taking my fucking kids was too much!” Lucian wriggled around wildly until he somewhat faced Mason, who was shrinking in her chair. “You’re a terrible fucking mother who—”
The dull thud of Lucian’s body hitting the hardwood from approximately six feet and nine inches filled the air, followed by his groan.
He stayed there for a moment, curled up like a dying animal, and no one dared make a sound. His greasy, clumped-together hair fanned across the floor. Two weeks. That’s all it took to reduce my admittedly well-groomed brother into a shell of a man. Dope sick, shaking, unable to eat or care for himself—but hey, at least the seizures had stopped.
“Get up,” Cameron said flatly. “you don’t mean a damn word that just came out of your mouth. Now let’s go before you break something I ain’t fixing for you.”
Lucian popped his head up and opened his mouth, but Cameron tugged him to his feet and yanked him upstairs.
“I—sorry, about—” I gestured vaguely toward the mess that had just left. “him.”
Mason nodded and folded her hands in her lap. It was only then I noticed the antique ring on her right finger. For almost a year, she’d been sporting it on her left hand and calling it her engagement ring, even though the two had already eloped.
Mine and Lucian’s side of the family would actually hang him if he didn’t have a ceremony, so they hid it.
Mason swiped her tongue over her lips as she twisted the jewelry back and forth for a moment before removing it entirely. She rolled it between her fingers. I thought she’d slip it back on.
But with a look of resigned sadness, she exhaled and leaned forward, setting it gently on the coffee table. The emerald in the center glinted against the sunbeams streaming through the blinds. Mason’s eyes lingered on the faint tan line the band had left before she folded her hands in her lap.
“You’re not a bad mom, by the way,” I added, hoping to stitch up what Lucian’s temper had shredded.
Mason forced a sad smile and nodded. Still, her gaze clung to the ring, like a part of her had been stripped away the second she let it go.
“I want to come back,” she whispered, her bare hands curling into the fabric of her dress. “I want our life back.”
“And we want you back,” Sophia said softly, reaching toward her.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Mattie’s tongue-click sliced through the air. “Pipsqueak isn’t done talking. Let her finish.”
My gaze narrowed, heat licking up my spine as I silently cursed Mason’s lifelong talent for attracting assholes.
Mason didn’t meet our eyes.
“But, to do that, I need to know more about who you guys—” Mason stopped, shoulders rolling forward as if gagging on the word. “killed. Because you both have unalived someone. With your hands. That’s a thing you two do.”
Mattie patted Mason on the shoulder as if to sayenough, and I swore a wave of relief washed over her.
My eyes locked with Sophia’s, hoping to see she was just as nervous as I was. Instead, she was calm, cool, and collected. Maybe even smug.
She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Why don’t we play twenty questions?” Sophia suggested. “That way, you don’t have to know any of the nitty-gritty you’re not ready for.”
Finally, Mason’s head lifted, and she nodded.
“Seb…” She started slowly, despite the fact I never agreed to this fucking game. “How many people did you…”
“Kill?” I finished, despite the ice in my veins. I had no desire to play this game, and even less of one to lie to Mason. That would only make this worse. “Pass. Bad question.”
Mason’s eyes widened for a beat. She sat a little straighter and looked to Sophia.
“Sebby’s right, that’s a bad question, Honeybee.”
