Here Lies a Saint (Here Lies #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,68

words leave me abrasively.

“Oh, sweetie... you’ll know.” Her hands trail across her arms and up her shoulders. She slips both sides off, bearing her breasts to me.

I suck in a breath, not knowing if I should look or not. Bridger told me consent matters, and while she’s agreeing to showing me herself, I never gave her the same answer.

“Touch me, Lennox.”

“N-no,” I mutter.

She’s my stepmom. She’s dad’s wife. She’s... old.

Gripping my shaking palm, she drags it to her chest.

“S-stop.”

A chuckle leaves her. It’s nearly soundless to my ringing ears. The chaise squeaks as she moves, forcing me on top of her. Her hands touch me all over, and she forces me to touch her back.

Shaking my head of the nightmare that hasn’t stopped playing in my head for the last few years, I swallow.

A punch to my gut brings me entirely back to the moment.

“When I speak to you, you pay attention.”

Letting out a gasping hiss, I don’t clutch myself like I used to. I swallow the pain and think of Colt and her resilience.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“You know how I feel about repeating myself,” he barks, his expression aggressive and pinched. It’s insane how his face can seem impassive while his voice carries that scary realization that I’m fucked if he deems it so.

“Yes, sir.”

He adjusts his tie as if deciding something and peers directly in my eyes. “You’re to dance with Colton today. Teach her the basic routines so she doesn’t embarrass the founding families.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say.

“When your announcement comes, you best look and appear confident. Tonight will ensure our family’s rise. It’s been too goddamn long being beneath the Edgingtons’ power. We will make history.”

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t roll his eyes at me, but he does let out an exasperated breath, bothered as ever. “It means you’ll do as I say and not fuck it up. I’ve literally signed your future and, with it, your two brothers.”

Swallowing the worrisome lump in my throat, I nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll be gone until tonight. Make sure Ashton needs for nothing,” he demands before leaving me alone in my temporary room.

My stomach roils at his words. He may not have meant it to be anything more than saying she shouldn’t need to ask for anything, but my mind can only travel to the time she stole my virtue and fucked away my innocence.

An hour later, I’m dressed, heading for the ballroom. I’ve been at the Estate on many occasions. When I arrive, I’m struck stupid by the girl standing with her back to me. The hair is shorter, a long bob, and cut in a way that screams rebellion. When she turns, I realize it’s Colt. Somehow, my heart instantly races, making my skin warm with nerves. Even with short black hair, she’s fucking stunning. No one has the right to look that good while also resembling a vampire.

“Lux,” she enunciates slowly, her cheeks reddening in the best way.

My eyes roam her makeupless face, seeing her freckles for once, the natural red hue of her blush, and the sadness she hid behind too.

“Vamp,” I reply, feeling like my chest is far too tight.

She’s staring at me like she’s seeing me for the first time again, and the way that kidnaps my morality and steals away everything else is haunting. Without preamble, I bring her to me, hugging her to my chest as if she’d disappear.

I’m not sure when my antics went from hating her to needing her. When her distance felt like pain. When her absence was felt more than when I pretended to hate her.

She’s consumed me, singlehandedly taken a vital part of me. It’s different. I can’t allow her to know. She’s too vulnerable that way.

“Are they hurting you?” I ask, knowing they aren’t above torture. It seems they’ve already stolen her personality, but she seems tired. Exhausted, even.

“Not more than to be expected from psychopaths.”

I nod, understanding entirely. “Do you even know why we’re here?”

She shakes her head, but the movement is slow. “No clue.”

“The Gala is tonight.”

“Tonight?” she hisses. We’re several days before Christmas. It isn’t like she should be surprised. It happens every year.

“Yes, and I’ve been assigned to make you dance like a lady.”

She chuckles dryly, bringing my first smile in ages forward. “A lady... me?”

I can’t help but laugh a little at that. She’s a badass. That’s for sure. And like she always points out, a lady rarely makes history. Avoiding the social norms for