Queen of The Reapers by Jessa Halliwell
Eight
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I know who it is before either of them say a word. The second Dimitri’s car peeled out of the driveway, I could hear the twins' heavy footsteps practically running towards my room. They’re probably eager for answers. So much for being alone with my thoughts tonight.
The “business they needed to attend to”, as Cyrus so eloquently put it, took a little over an hour. During that time, I cried, I screamed, and I cursed at the assholes I thought I loved. And though Atlas and Ezra weren’t there, deep down, I know they would have treated me with the same careless disregard. It's what they do and who they are at their core.
I don’t answer the knock, but it doesn’t surprise me when I hear the handle move. The door glides open and a soft breeze brushes my hair back as the two massive men enter my room.
I’m trying to hide it, but I’m still so angry. So god damn mad, I can’t even think straight. So I revert to what I know and let the numbness act as my shield. No one else is going to hurt me tonight, that I can fucking guarantee.
I’m seated in one of the white loveseats poised in front of the roaring gas fireplace with a copy of Crime and Punishment in my hands. How fitting that a house filled with murderers enjoys reading about one.
“Can I help you?” I ask, not even bothering to look up from the pages I’m pretending to read.
I can feel the weight of their stares on my skin and it makes me internally sneer. I’m sure they expect me to fight them. For me to demand an explanation the second they walk in. But this is what they want, right? For me to be a good little whore and stay in my fucking place. I’m giving them exactly what they asked for.
Tristan is the first to make a move. He shuffles forwards and quietly sits in the chair next to me. I do and say nothing. The floor is theirs.
He releases a heavy sigh and leans forward. “We need to t… talk.” He says, his rough voice sounding almost as defeated as I feel.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I say, soaking in the ice that coats my tongue.
They’ve already shown me how little I mean to them. They didn’t give a fuck about what they walked in on earlier, so why even bother pretending to care now? What’s there to be upset about, anyway? After all, Dimitri practically got their stamp of fucking approval.
I expected them to behave differently. To think and feel differently about me. But that, out of everything that took place tonight, was my biggest mistake of all. I should’ve known not to expect anything from The Reapers. Nothing can deter them from their cruel nature, and I was so fucking foolish to think otherwise.
Right now, all I care about is finding my sister and getting the fuck out of their home and out of their lives for good.
“Bullshit.” Cyrus says, leaning on Tristan's arm rest. “There's a fuck-ton to talk about.”
“Not really.” I say, feeling as dead as I sound. “It’s business, right?”
“Did he touch you?” Cyrus demands, jerking my chin up. I say nothing as I glare at him. Willing my eyes to look as empty as I feel.
“Did he fucking touch you?” He asks again, painfully gripping my jaw.
“Does it matter?” I say, blinking slowly. “You said it yourself, I’m a toy.”
The way I emphasize the word makes his lip twitch. He’s trying to put up the same icy shields as I am, but I’m better at it. I’m colder, and when it comes down to it, I can be more ruthless.
“Answer him.” Tristan says calmly. “Please.”
“Nothing happened.” I say flatly with my face void of emotion. “He opened the door, I stepped out, and you two walked up.”
“That’s it?” Tristan asks, studying my poker face.
“That’s it.” I say, glaring at him. They didn’t need to know anything else. No one did. What happened with me and Dimitri will stay between him and I.
Nothing good can come from telling them what happened. They’ll either brush it off and, in doing so, hurt my feelings even more or they’ll overreact and end up getting themselves or someone else killed. I refuse to have any more blood on my hands. This battle is mine and mine alone.
Nothing good can come from telling them what happened. They’ll either brush it off and, in doing so, hurt my feelings even more or they’ll overreact and end up getting themselves or someone else killed. I refuse to have their blood on my hands. This battle is mine and mine alone.
Nothing good can come from telling them what happened, they’ll only end up getting themselves killed or at the very least getting excommunicated from The Organization. I refuse to have their blood on my hands. This battle is mine and mine alone.
“She’s fucking lying.” Cyrus says, glaring down at me. “I can see it all over her fucking face.”
A laugh bubbles out of me.
“You’re really going to accuse me of lying right now? After the way you two acted?”
“No.” Tristan says, using his arm to push his twin back. “We’re not.”
“Is there anything else?” I ask the question as a formality, more than anything else. They won’t get any genuine answers from me. Not anymore.
“Yeah, there is.” Cyrus says, glaring his emerald eyes at me. “Put some fucking clothes on. Your sister is waiting for us.”