Page 110 of The Vixen

Blood nearly blends in with the maroon on his ugly rug when I spit and roll my shoulders back. Maybe the Seraphs won’t see it. Maybe it’ll linger, my filth added to the vileness of this room. The only space in the house I deem unsalvageable.

Biting my cheek against the pain, I go to his laptop.

His password is my name, mybirthname, same as it’s always been. But I don’t feel love as I once did logging in to this computer. I feel possessed.

My lips thin as I start to type. I don’t have a wealth of time, but he won’t come back for at least a half hour. Not until he can assure himself I’m gone.

CHAPTER 30

SAWYER

“Do you want your hoodie back?” Liberty asks, her knees pulled to her chest while she boxes herself in the corner. When the tip of her sneaker dips in a puddle, she jerks back with a shiver.

I shake my head and tense my arms in a poor attempt to keep steady. “I’m from Alaska. We don’t get cold.”

Something too bitter to call a laugh pops from her mouth. As I turn to her, she looks away. A dimple forms on her chin like she’s biting her inner lip.

“You can’t help but lie, can you?” Her voice is hard but low. Disappointed, maybe. Her shoe dips in water once again, and she pulls her heels to her ass.

I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes. Count to thirty-seven.

“How would you even know I was lying?” I don’t know why I ask it or why I hold my breath waiting for her response.

“Angel told me you’re from California. And that you’re a baby about the cold.”

My breath releases. I open my eyes when somebody cries out in pain, but neither Liberty nor I flinch. In only an hour, she’s adjusted to the agony—despite every minute on my island being intolerable for her.

I wait for annoyance to surface…

Nothing.

“What else did he tell you about me?”

When she goes to remove the hoodie, I put my hand over hers and shake my head. I’d rather freeze to death than get another glimpse at her ripped shirt.

She drops the hem and leans against the dirt-packed wall. A crumb of rock falls on her head, so small she doesn’t seem to notice. I fight the urge to pick it off.

“What else did he tell me…” she repeats. "You drove a motorcycle throughout college. You never went home for holidays… One time, you gave a bunch of people the wrong answers on an exam so you could raise the curve.”

“That was Angel too.”

“It was your idea.”

When Liberty’s eyes meet mine, I face the Dregs. Numbers flick through my head as my teeth tap, an endless series of groans beginning from somewhere in the cell. It ends with ayelp.

“You’re upset,” Liberty observes.Triesto observe. She’s not that great at reading people.

I steady my jaw, tongue prodding the back of my clenched teeth.

“You were the only family Angel had for nearly two decades. Are you really surprised he’d talk about you to his wife?”

If he’d married literally anyone else—no.

I twirl a hand as if considering it. “The wife I supposedly enslaved…”

“Not supposedly, Sawyer.”

My eyes close before they can roll. Though, given the present moment… It’s hard to be irritated for long.