Page 139 of Darling Venom
She fished out two tiny keys from her pocket, dangling them by a loop. “I have the keys to his drawers.”
“All of a sudden?” I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t have them a month ago when we cleared his room, but you have them now…”
“The circumstances have changed.”
“Explain.” I lowered my voice, aware I had neighbors, Charlie possessed that look that could pass as eighteen or twenty-six, and the last thing I needed was rumors of Dr. Miracle entertaining late-night visits from a minor. “It’s not like I have anything better to do at three in the goddamn morning.”
“It’s not my place to.”
She didn’t have the decency to look guilty. Instead, she clocked the gap between me and the door, as if debating whether she could make it through.
Answer: she could.
But only because I’d get out of the way.
I didn’t trust myself to touch her right now. Or ever.
“Considering you’re on my front step at three in the morning, demanding to see Darling Venom, I think an explanation is warranted.”
“Darling Venom?”
Fuck me.
So much for neither confirming nor denying the manuscript’s existence. Remind me to never apply for a job at the CIA.
She swayed on the top step. I moved to catch her and stopped myself. Charlotte Richards was nothing but my former patient.
Not my girl.
Not my problem.
I watched her shut her eyes and take two deep breaths. To steady herself, maybe.
Then her gaze shot to mine, pinning me with its intensity. “Is that its name?”
Did it surprise me that Kellan told her he’d written a book?
Not the slightest.
She was his friend. His only friend. Which, technically, made her his best friend.
But something seemed off. Like, as off-balance as she’d thrown me, she was even more so. Teetering on a ledge she couldn’t quite save herself from.
That didn’t mean I would be her knight in shining armor. And it certainly didn’t mean I would be giving up the only thing left of my little brother.
“You’re not getting the book, Charlie. Don’t bother trying.”
At this point, I couldn’t make it clearer if I mailed her a postcard and took out a Times Square billboard with the words printed on them.
Still, she persisted.
And goddamnit, she had a trump card.
“Kellan gave me a letter that night.”
I scoffed, but something prodded the back of my mind. The possibility, even if slight, riled me up. Drove me fucking crazy.
I kept my voice level. “And you’ve just remembered it tonight? That’s convenient.”
