Goddess of Pain - Katie May Page 0,49

get it, but I argued that I’m a girl and thus, needed more room.

So why are only my brothers and father in that photograph?

“Hey, I was worried you got lost,” Ray teases gruffly from behind me, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Couldn’t handle them anymore?” I tease, and we both knew exactly who “them” is.

Ray shudders. “That one guy, Arsin? He’s a little…fucked up.” His expression suddenly turns serious as he forces me to face him. “He doesn’t hurt you, does he? Do any of them hurt you?”

Tears spring to my eyes unbidden at the love I see emanating from his eyes. The worry.

“No, he doesn’t hurt me,” I say through a suddenly clogged throat. At least, not more than I ask them to. But you really, really don’t want to hear about the kinky shit I’m into. Clearing my throat against the onslaught of emotions, I turn towards the photograph on the wall. “I’m not in this.”

“Huh?” He quirks his brow at the abrupt topic change.

“This picture,” I explain. “I’m not in it.”

“That’s strange.” He squints his eyes as he stares at the photograph. “But then again, you never really liked having your picture taken.” He shrugs as if that’s the most logical answer. The only answer. Maybe for him, it is.

“You don’t have one photograph of me,” I continue. It feels as if my heart is physically breaking. I didn’t think that was possible; a heart can’t technically break, despite what everyone claims. But mine? It’s shattering with every word leaving Ray’s mouth. “Not even when I was a baby.”

“Are you upset that we don’t have pictures of you?” he asks incredulously. “Em…”

“You know what? It’s fine. It’s no big deal. I’m just being silly.” I wave my hand in the air dismissively as he removes his hands from his pockets. A piece of paper flies out and falls to the floor, but he pays it no mind as he pulls me to him. I immediately cuddle against his chest, reveling in the strength that only my big brother can provide.

Though…

He’s not technically my big brother, is he?

“Don’t be stupid, sis,” he murmurs against my hair. “We can get some damn photographs of you up on the walls if that would make you feel better. Honestly, I’m surprised Dad didn’t notice earlier. You know that man fucking adored you.”

That man didn’t even know I existed, I think to myself, self-loathing evident in my internal rant.

“Now, let’s get back to dinner before those…friends of yours go on a rampage.” His face twists in disgust at the word “friends,” as if even a term like that is too disgusting to hear in regard to the men who have claimed my heart and soul.

“Give me a second,” I say as he brushes his lips to my forehead. I need to get myself under control before I can face the others. The wound is too raw, still bleeding profusely, and I know that a mere bandage won’t be able to fix the damage inflicted.

“Yeah. Of course.” He eyes me warily, no doubt uncomprehending why the lack of photographs of me would set me off, before heading back down the hall. I wait until he’s completely out of sight before bending over, placing my hands on my knees.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I repeat that mantra in my head until I feel somewhat human. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get through the rest of tonight without tearing apart at the seams.

My eyes latch on the slip of paper that left Ray’s pocket. Curiosity getting the better of me, I pick it up to see a number written in a dark scrawl.

Their girl’s number, perhaps?

Grinning wickedly, my earlier melancholy dissipating for a brief moment, I grab my phone from my small clutch and dial the number.

Isn’t this what sisters do, blood or not? Irritate the shit out of her big brothers?

The phone rings once before going to voicemail, and instantly, a bucket of ice water is thrown over my head, dousing me with the surreality of what I’m hearing.

“This is Burke McCain. I’m unable to get to the phone right now, so please leave a message.”

Burke McCain? The man that paid the others to kill me?

Why would Ray have his number?

With shaky fingers, I quickly hit the red button, ending the call. My legs feel like jello, almost as if they’re incapable of remaining upright a moment longer. I need to get out of here; I need to sort through my feelings.

Because maybe, just maybe,