Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,74
cheeks.
And what game is she playing?
Letting out a frustrated growl, I roll off the side of the bed and pull on my boxers. After closing my fingers around a pack of cigarettes and lighter, I close the door behind me and step out of the back door into the quietness of the dawn.
Shaking a cigarette from the pack, I pinch it between my lips and flick the lighter. Inhaling deeply, I blow a haze of cloudy smoke into the air before lifting the phone back to my ear. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything, you jerk off. I called to give you an update.”
I rub the back of my hand against my temples. “What more could there be?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Fine. Make it quick, I don’t have all day.”
“Watch it, McCallum,” he growls. “You don’t pay me enough to listen to your bullshit. How about I hang up, and you can figure it out for yourself?”
“Fine, what’s so important you need to call me so damn early?”
“There’s been a situation.”
This conversation is starting to piss me off. “I don’t like situations.”
“And I don’t like shit being out of my control, but we don’t always get what we want.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Anger swells in my chest, and I throw my cigarette down, stepping on it with my bare foot and crushing it into the cement.
Last one. I swear.
I listen as his voice filters through the line, my chest getting tighter. A distant roar swells in my ears with every confession and every truth I don’t want to hear.
By the time we hang up, I’m numb.
Sometimes things happen in your life you never plan for. Decisions are made in the midst of chaos that you bury in the past. You never question right or wrong or outcome or consequence. You put those decisions in a box and set it aside. Because what happened yesterday is over. All that matters is today.
Until yesterday becomes today.
I don’t know how much time has passed, but the dark mist of dawn has disappeared, and the bright light of a new day burns my eyes. One that comes with a choice.
Opening the patio door, I walk down the hall, Angel’s incoherent nightmare-infused words ringing in my ears.
“Are you God?”
My eyes focus on the bedroom door, a sense of dread resting in the pit of my stomach. For a moment, I consider getting in my car and getting the hell out. But I can’t do that to her.
Because I made a promise once.
And pinkie promises are binding.
Lies are fascinating things. They’re like a grain of sand in between your toes, rough and uncomfortable, but the more you walk around, the less you notice it. It becomes normal, and before long, you don’t remember a time when it wasn’t there.
Tell a lie long enough, and just like sand, before you know it you don’t remember the truth. Wear a mask long enough and no one knows your real face.
Three weeks, one day, and four hours. That’s how long I’ve lived a lie since that night at Amalia.
Sitting on the third floor balcony, I look out over the grounds and remember the words I discounted so long ago.
“Fate always finds a way.”
Resting my arms over the thick rails, I inhale and let it out slowly without a wheeze or a cough. Smirking, I tip the neck of my beer bottle back and take a long drink.
It’s also been three weeks, one day, and four hours since my last cigarette. My lungs thank me, but my nerves are pissed as hell.
Especially since I still haven’t told Angel about Luciano. To be fair, she hasn’t asked. If she brings it up, I’ll tell her enough to satisfy her while holding enough back to keep her off the Vitoli radar.
Since that night in his office, Luciano has remained quiet. Too quiet. Which means he’s watching and waiting, analyzing my every move and following my every step.
Our tentative truce is shaky at best.
The scales are balanced for now, but it’d take only one miscalculation to bathe these walls in blood for the second time.
There’s a rattle of glass behind me followed by the click-clack of high heels. “I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking.”
Angel nestles in beside me, leaning her head against my shoulder. “About what?”
“Time.” Or lack thereof. Staring out at the darkening sky, I tip my beer back again. Angel stands quietly as I lean over the