Page 47 of Splintered Desire

“Good,” he says, pushing to his feet and leaving without another word.

He could have taken her, or simply given her the card he had made for her and let her go on her own. Though he might not be far off in his concern that she has nothing, and as such, one must wonder why.

I know for sure that she makes enough money to afford more than the baggy clothes she insists on hiding behind. Yet when I broke into her room while she was in class, I found not one single dress.

We might not see eye to eye with her, but the last thing we can allow her to do is ruin Mother’s day.

She’s been through more than her share of hardship, and while she lives a cushioned life of luxury now, loved and adored by a man she loves, that wasn’t always the case.

Father never loved her. They were a marriage of convenience, at best, and he bought her, at worst.

Both mother and father came from old money, the kind that tries to keep it in the family.

The best thing that ever happened to her was our Father getting cancer, because as much as he might have shaped us and given us The Pit, he was a cancer himself.

Our lessons were beaten into us, and I had the scars to remember them by; we all did.

Best to get this over with.

The den is down the hall from her room, which sits right between mine and Jace’s, something we did on purpose. I fight the urge to go to my room and see her; I know she’s in there.

I’d been watching her not twenty minutes ago, before Kolson summoned me; it’s become a habit of sorts. But someone has to know when she comes and goes.

Tank might be on lookout duty, but she’s managed to give us all the slip one too many times now; she won’t be doing it again.

I stop in front of her door, listening for a moment, but I don’t hear anything.

Wrapping my knuckles on the door, I wait and wait.

I should have known she wouldn’t answer, not that I can blame her exactly. I probably wouldn’t either if I were her.

Fishing my phone from my pocket, I shoot off a text.

It’s rude to leave someone at the door.

I hear her phone chime and see the dots pop up almost instantly.

Get fucked.

I grind my teeth even as I feel the blood run south and my cock pulses.

Answer the door, or I’ll let myself in, and you won’t have enough time to get a new lock before bed tonight.

I crave being back in my room, able to see her response on the screen.

She’s always so expressive and unapologetically herself.

It’s both exhausting and refreshing.

I have to bite the inside of my lip when I hear movement, and her door cracks open a moment later, her gaze hard and annoyance written all over her face.

“What?” she snaps, and I lose my hold on myself, my lips curling up, as I peer down at her.

“We’re leaving,” I tell her and watch as her brows pull together.

“Good for you.”

Clearly, I need to be more direct.