“I’m a man of my word, princess. If you begin to question my integrity, I might start to get angry.” He slides his phone from his pocket with the hand that isn’t holding the champagne. After tapping the screen a few times, he passes it over to me.
I look down to see what appears to be a live feed of Parrish pacing the floor. His bed is messy, the covers half on the floor. His fingers are locked together behind his head, his chocolate hair falling onto his forehead. The sun-bleached bits seem a little darker, but maybe that’s just the lighting?
His chest and belly are sliced up, and he winces slightly as he drops his arms to his sides. But at the very least, he seems clean, and the wounds are still shiny, still slathered with some sort of salve or ointment. My heart contracts painfully, and I forget to breathe for so long that I let out a choking breath, like I’m suffocating.
Justin seems to find that funny, chuckling as he collects the phone from my hand, taps the screen again, and puts it back in the pocket of his jacket.
“You want to know how I’m doing today?” I inquire politely. “Well, since you seem to be so big on honesty, I’ll tell you. Shitty, that’s how I’m doing.”
He chuckles at me again and sips his champagne, watching me over the rim of the glass like I’m the most curious and most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The expression echoes Tess’ warning from earlier, and I shiver.
“Why is that, darling?” he asks, and I grit my teeth. The constant pet names are grating.
“Um, you threatened me into fucking my sister’s boyfriend last night,” I snap, too frustrated to even be embarrassed. Well, okay, so my cheeks flame and my tits burn, but at least he can’t see the latter part of my flush. “That’s sick. You’re sick. This whole thing is sick.”
Justin doesn’t appear bothered by my outburst, cocking his head slightly to one side as he studies me some more. Taking me in. Absorbing me. I’ll admit, I get a small sort of thrill at seeing the split at the edge of his lip and the purpling of a bruise just beneath a fine layer of foundation. He tried to hide it, but since I know what I’m looking for, it seems obvious.
“To be fair, Maxine broke up with Maxim prior to last night. He was a free man. Try not to be so hard on yourself.” Justin finishes his champagne and then delicately places the glass in a cup holder opposite him. “Besides, you’re attracted to Maxx, are you not?”
“I’m your daughter,” I reply blandly, my hand tightening around the neck of the champagne bottle. “Why would you even ask me that?”
He sighs, but in a patronizing sort of way, like I’m just a heathen who hasn’t learned how to behave properly just yet. His eyes flick to the tennis bracelet on my wrist, and the edge of his mouth quirks up in amusement. Bingo.
“Attraction, sex, romance, they’re all just games we play with ourselves. Reward yourself with your wants. Don’t be ashamed of them.”
“Oh, you mean the way you do?” I retort, wondering how sassy I can get before this all backfires on me—and Parrish. I should probably watch my tongue, but then, Justin never told me I had to. He hasn’t made it a command—yet. “You murder people.”
“Every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend. You cannot mix up sentiment and reason,” he says, as if quoting something from memory. Justin gives me a sharp smile in response to my questioning look. “The Mysterious Affair at Styles.” When I give no indication of understanding, Justin throws his head back in a manic yet somehow also genteel laugh. I shiver again. I’m going to be doing a lot of shivering around this man, apparently. Just like I had a billion forced smiles with Tess.
Fuck. My. Life.
“An Agatha Christie novel, darling.” He leans in toward me, and I get that whiff of his spicy scent again, the one that makes me feel as if there are memories dancing at the edges of my consciousness. But when was the last time I saw this man? When I was one? One and a half, at best? You can’t have real memories from those ages, just fragments of thought. Still, his scent lingers. Just like Tess’. My parents. Tess Vanguard, the crime writer, and Justin Prior, the app developer/serial killer. Hmm. Should I be proud or, like, suicidal? “I see that Tess hasn’t enlightened you much on her past. You know, her grandmother was obsessed with Agatha Christie.” He sits back and nods his head once, as if he’s recalling a fond memory. “She’s the world’s bestselling author, Tess’ hero.” Justin snorts and crosses his arms. “Has she told you nothing about her past?”
