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13
I check my phone for probably the millionth time, but there’s still nothing from Loni. It’s been two days since my ocean-side confession to her about the fire back home, and I think I shocked her pretty bad. She didn’t say anything to me that night at Saint’s after I told her what I did, just stared at me with wide, stu
I’d apologized to Loni and gone with him, partly because I knew he wouldn’t let up otherwise, but also because I was scared of what she’d eventually say. It was far from my proudest moment, and now I regret not staying and talking to her. She was gone from the house by the time I got done with Saint, and I never got the chance to explain myself more thoroughly to her.
Saint didn’t make things any better. He showed up angry, but with a cocky grin that told me he’d done something horrible.
He’d dragged me down the beach, away from Loni, and nearly out of sight of his house.
Spi
“Where’d you go?” I’d asked in a low voice.
Of course, he’d ignored my question because it was Saint and he really did buy into the whole god thing. The bastard thought he was omnipotent.
“You better have a good fucking explanation for ignoring my texts all night,” he’d snapped. “You put yourself in u I really hadn’t appreciated the lecture, but I hadn’t interrupted him for fear of just pissing him off more. I’d never get an answer out of him that way. As he ranted, I’d noticed what I still swear was blood on his shirt. “Saint, what the hell is that on your shirt?” I’d interrupted him to point it out. He’d glanced down at his otherwise pristine white t-shirt and shrugged. “I don’t see anything.” “Bullshit. Is it blood?” He’d looked up at me, eyes cold. “And if it was?” “Tell me it’s not from any of those girls.” His jaw had clenched at that, and it’d been pretty obvious that I’d pissed him off with that statement. “You really think Liam and I would go and beat up a bunch of petty bitches? What kind of monster do you take me for, Mallory?” I hadn’t known then, and I still don’t really know now, though I’m more confident that he hadn’t beat the shit out of Kristyn and her friends. Still, I think he beat the shit out of someone, but he wouldn’t tell me who. Letting out a sigh, I tuck my phone away and my thoughts of Loni and Saint with it. Unfortunately, now isn’t the time. I’ve got something much more pressing to deal with before I can worry about either of them. “Here we are,” my Uber driver says, pulling to a stop outside of a quaint little restaurant that I know on sight is way out of my price-range. “Thanks,” I murmur, slipping out of the car. My heartbeat is spiraling out of control, and I no longer have any problem focusing. I’ve been dreading this meeting all week. My di I pause outside the main entrance and take a deep, fortifying breath before I make my way inside. It’s a crowded place, but I spot Nora almost immediately. She’s sitting at a table in the middle of the main room—looking like one of the mothers from the Macy’s ads in a black and blue color-block dress that brings out the color of her eyes—and she’s surrounded by people. I scowl, suspecting that’s not on purpose, and wonder what her scheme is as I make my way over to her. She smiles when she sees me, but it’s far from friendly. “I figured it’d be best to show you I’ve no intention of hurting you,” she says as I sit down across from her and link my fingers together on the tabletop. “We’ll keep this nice and friendly and public.” I scoff. “Please. I’m not an idiot. We both know you would hurt me if you wanted to, witnesses around or not.” She arches a perfectly sculpted dark brown eyebrow at that but doesn’t say anything to counter my point. Instead, she tilts her head and studies me for several long moments before asking, “What happened to your face? Did little Angelle finally snap on you? I figured it would happen sooner or later, with all the choking and—” “Just stop.” Creepiness aside, her words would sting a lot more if I hadn’t been enduring taunts from Laurel and her minions about my bruises all weekend. It had given that bitch so much joy to see me beaten that I don’t know how I’d managed not to knock her teeth down her throat and return the favor. “So,” Nora interrupts my thoughts. She takes a dainty sip from her glass of water and blinks at me. “What happened?” Vividly remembering what happened to Jon Eric, I decide this is the last person I’d ever tell. She had him killed to try to prove to me in some twisted way that she wanted to protect me, which I know is bullshit. She wanted leverage over me, and she got it. As much as I hate Laurel, I’m not interested in having her death on my conscience. “It’s nothing,” I say at last. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, anyway.” “I’m your mother, Eden,” she replies, smiling when I shudder at the name. “Of course I’m concerned for you.” “Sure you are. You’re an overflowing fountain of care and love and maternal instincts.” “You’re being rude,” she chides, as if she’s fucking June Cleaver and not Beatrix Kiddo 2.0. “I’ve always cared for you. Have always been concerned about your wellbeing.” “You thought I was dead, remember?” I point out dryly. “And I thought of you every day of my life.” That I do believe. There’s something about the way she says it and the intensity burning behind her sapphire eyes that tells me she has thought of me, and I swallow hard, averting my gaze to the backs of my hands. “Where were you all those years?” I blurt the question before I fully realize what I’m saying. I want to take it back as soon as the words are in the air. The last thing I want to do is piss her off so bad, she does something to Je It’s obvious she doesn’t like that question. When I look up, her expression is frosty and she stares at me through narrowed slits. Shit. Have I fucked this up already? “I’m here now,” she says through gritted teeth. I return her glare, though I don’t say anything in response. I’ve got a big mouth, but I’m not an idiot. Not a big one, at least. A chill settles in the air around us that I’m sure won’t dissipate anytime soon. I think the waiter picks up on the tension when he comes to take our order because he looks wildly uncomfortable, his gaze occasionally wandering curiously over my battered face. “What can I get you ladies?” he asks, his tone formal but tight. “I’ll have the lemon pepper salmon,” Nora says in an authoritative tone that I imagine would work magic in a boardroom. “And my beautiful daughter will have your New York strip with a baked potato.” The waiter scribbles down the order and practically runs away from the table when Nora dismisses him. I stare at her in shock. “How’d you know I like New York strip with a baked potato?” I ask softly. She meets my gaze and purses her pink lips in a knowing smile. “I know everything about you.” This. Crazy. Bitch. Plus, her words are clearly a threat. Je