Page 123 of Hellbound

No wonder her mother never talked about him. But she’d let Marian keep his name.

Her heart split in half, then went inexplicably numb.

She believed Vale even before she met Tori’s eyes and cringed at the pity in them.

“Marian,” Tori said. “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “This changes nothing. He’s dead. I still have to kill Verinne.”

And I still have no family.

No one followed her out of the office.

Everything was upside-down.

Months ago, she’d been knocking back cans of Pabst on the Annex patio, letting Greg Bjernsen convince her how lost she was without him. Now she was standing in a bathroom inside a multimillion-dollar home in Pasadena, staring at the black sigil she’d etched into her skin and sealed with a promise she didn’t understand. The same one her biological father must have had.

But he didn’t make it as far as you did.

She wished he had.

No matter how hard she scoured her memories for an answer to Bennett Meyer and how she came to bear the same mark, nothing appeared. There was only white noise between the fractured horrors of her internment in Hell and revival.

Marian gripped the sides of the basin sink as the voice railed on and on, screaming over her attempts to silence it.

You’re just a shitty replacement, losing your mind over someone who chose Hell over you.

“Shut up.”

A firm knock on the bedroom door made Marian jump so high, she slammed her shoulder into the door frame with a string of curses. She tumbled into the bedroom proper and braced her trembling hands on the edge of the bed as the hall door creaked open.

Paul’s head appeared in the doorway. “Hey, you’re under house arrest.”

Marian stared back at him as she rubbed her shoulder. Broaching the subject of what she’d seen with him seemed about as helpful as slamming her hand in that door.

But he noticed. The slight furrow between his brows and the way he squinted at her told Marian she’d not been subtle.

“You’re not stroking out on me are you?” Paul asked, the sarcasm undermined by a note of concern.

“No,” Marian replied, standing upright. “I thought we were already under house arrest.”

“That was daycare. When the keys disappear? That’s house arrest.” He arched a brow as he looked her over. “I’ve seen plastic skeletons that looked less dead than you. Have you considered showering more frequently? You smell like a gym bag.”

“I was going to,” Marian grumbled, “But since you asked, now I’m not.”

“Are you and my sister competing against each other in the world’s most stubborn idiot competition? This horse I met at a house party last week had more chill. They even let him in the kitchen.” Paul raked a hand through his hair as he leaned against the door.

“Where do you find the time to go to house parties between your bartending and murder duties?”

He grinned. “Some of us figured out to how to have a semblance of a life in this post-Hell nightmare.”

“And where does your sister fit into all this?”

Paul’s expression lost its suspicious edge. “Bern? She works for Vale, too. But she’s laying low somewhere in B.C. on Vale’s orders and hating every second of it.”

“Why would she hate that?”

Paul shrugged. “Because she’s more gung-ho about this deal of ours than I am.”