Page 11 of Cold Mercy

She isn't a victim. And I’m going to enjoy taking her down piece by piece.

CHAPTER 3

SOPHIA

The morning begins blandly. I feel as if I've created an illusion of a normal life after Noah's death. I get up because I have to, not because I want to. Although Elizabeth's recent wedding planning gives me a slight sense of another world. The previous Sophia, the one I used to be. Not the bitchy and sarcastic one, but the one often around people and, above all, closer to Elizabeth.

We used to be inseparable, all four of us, and I left them alone for almost two years. They also lost Noah, and I ensured they had also lost their other best friend, which made their grief twice as hard.

So, if it's all about planning, I know exactly what she's doing, and I'll just let her do it. On my own terms, of course. I know she could do most of these things, but she wants to get me out of the house. I'm grateful to her for that. Maybe she'll keep me in this world a little longer.

Before the sun clears the trees, I take Duke out. Noah bought him the first month we moved here, a gray horse with an uneven gait and too much personality for his own good. He snorts every time I ask him to pick up the pace, stubborn as ever. Noah chose him because he said Duke was ‘beautiful in his messiness,’ like me. Now I wonder if he wanted to offend me or compliment me, but I don't care enough to dig up his grave.

When I get back, Hector is already there watering the hydrangeas near the porch, focused on the task as if the flowers might die without his personal encouragement.

“Morning, Soph,” he calls out without stopping. “The garden is thirsty today.”

“It’s June, Hector,” I reply, managing a small smile. “Everything is thirsty.”

I head inside. The kitchen smells of lemon polish and strong coffee. Mrs. Gonzalez is at the counter, wiping down surfaces that are already spotless.

“Buenos días, mi niña,” she says softly, her eyes scanning my face for cracks in the armor.

“Buenos días,” I answer, squeezing her arm as I pass.

I shower, braid my hair, pull on blue jeans, a simple black top, and the jacket that used to belong to Noah. It still smells faintly like his cologne, or maybe that’s just my brain refusing to let it go.

I check the garage and take the Porsche that once belonged to Noah. It still feels like him whenever I sit behind the wheel. That’s probably why I don't drive it anymore, but now the car will make itself useful. I back out and head toward the city, driving straight for James and Elizabeth’s new place.

Elizabeth opens the door before I finish knocking. Her dark blonde hair is in a messy bun. She's wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, and her face lights up a little.

“Hey, come in,” she says, pulling me into a kiss on the cheek. James waves from the kitchen island with two mugs of coffee.

“Looking terrifying as always, Soph.”

I snort.

“Good morning to you too, Jamie,” I tell him, hanging my bag on the chair.

The easy way James smiles and his silly jokes always keep the mood for everyone. It's the same with the warmth radiating from Elizabeth, which infects you whether you want it or not. God, I didn't realize how I've missed them, how much I needed their effortless comfort and the feeling of being accepted without judgment.

And then I see him.

Reed is leaning against the kitchen counter like it was built for him alone, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, exposing tattoos that start at his wrists and climb all the way up.

He’s tall enough that the counter hits him lower than it should, long lines of muscle and bone stretching well past what’s reasonable. Close to six-five, maybe more.

His hair is dark and thick, brushed back but with a slight wet-look wave that refuses to stay put, a few strands falling forward onto his forehead like they gave up on being controlled. A short, well-groomed beard shadows his jawline, framing a face that is too sharp to be gentle. His blue-green eyes catch the light when he turns his head. The kind of eyes that wear an expression that says, I fuck everything that moves, and when I get up in the morning, I wonder whose problem I'm going to be today.

“Oh! Thomas is here to help too,” Elizabeth beams.

I look him up and down once, slowly. Well, I'll do the work and then let them play ‘happy house’ with pretty boy, without me.

“Right,” I say flatly. “The IT guy.”

His eyebrow twitches up. Good. Let him be offended.

Before anything else, I reach into my bag and pull out the keys to the Porsche. I toss them to James. He catches them by reflex, looking down at them, confused.