Page 20 of Gravehouse

I chuckle. “It is annoyingly over the top.”

Everything stops.

“Wait, what do you mean get-together? I didn’t know about a get-together?”

CHAPTER

FIVE

ASHER

Twenty minutesof watching this fucking screen. Twenty minutes of reminding myself why I need a brother. Why I shouldn’t bury him in the backyard.

Jesus. I gotta pull my shit in.

Maybe it’s been thirty minutes. Or maybe I stopped counting when Atlas made her laugh and flipped my murder switch.

I focus back on her, where she’s on the bed, gesturing in that animated way she does when she’s forgotten to perform.

Leaning back in my chair, I roll a pen between my fingers. Fucking Atlas. Always so charming and smooth. She wouldn’t usually fall for it, but I can’t tell anymore. This Ivy looks soft and unguarded as she laughs at whatever dumb shit he just said. This was the version of her I got when no one was looking.

Or maybe, this was just simply what she wanted me to see.

My jaw locks.

Why the fuck am I sitting in my office with a hard dick, watching my brother try to flirt his way intomy...

She shot you.

She let you bleed out.

She fucking lied.

She’s a puppet.

My fingers trace the thick scar banding my throat. There’s an old saying,les amants maudits. It’s more story than saying, but comes down to one singular thing. Fate. The rest is some romance about born enemies who can’t stay away from each other.

Bullshit. It’s all fucking bullshit.

Romance has fuck all to do with love. There’s nothing pretty about love. There’s no fucking butterflies. There’s pain in equal measure. Romance is the commercial, love is the sale. And I’m supposed to be the idiot who falls for the whole thing because she’s got eyes that bring me to my knees and a mouth sent to this earth just to torture me.

Atlas says something and her smile dies. Her shoulders straighten, stare unmoving. She’s concealing all her fears—despite her argument that she has none.

I know this tell.

I knowallof her tells.

That’s the problem with falling for someone built to destroy you. You memorize the shit you shouldn’t because they’re all the things you love about them.

I know her better than I know myself.

And she used every fucking detail against me.

My phone buzzes on the desk. Camille’s name flashes, a string of messages I haven’t answered. I’ll let her wait. Let her wonder. She’s useful for exactly one thing right now, and it has everything to do with pissing off my little Venom.

Ivy shifts away from Atlas. She’s still talking, still moving, but it’s all performance now.

Ah. I see. She’s talking about me.