Page 3 of Reckless

After I swallowed the chalky white pill down, I collapsed on the plush red couch that was strewn with sequined bustiers and thongs so small you could floss with them, but I wouldn’t recommend testing that out.

“They’re getting worse, Stell,” my aunt said, concern lacing each syllable.

“I know,” I said, eyes shut tight and my arm flung over them to block out the lights.

“Oh fuck, is that… are you bleeding?”

“Oh right,” I murmured. The pain in my head had stolen my focus from my gaping wound. “It’s just a scratch. I’m fine,” I protested, but she was already grabbing at me, pulling my clothes off like I was still a little kid.

“Just a scratch, my ass. This looks like… you know what, I’m not even going to say it.” My vision began to darken and the sounds of her rummaging around in the room, cursing occasionally and murmuring about how I would be the death of her reached me as I waited, cold and head swimming.

Though I was in pain, I smiled, grateful for her doting. That was until she poured hydrogen peroxide all over my side and I sat up gasping hearing it sizzle against my sliced skin.

“Holy fuck! Warn me next time,” I exclaimed, pulling myself away from her.

“Hold still, I have to clean the area before I can bandage it up,” she chastised, pushing me down. I was too weak and too injured to argue. Even though it was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that you weren’t supposed to use that to clean wounds. It would open up a line of questioning I didn’t have the energy to answer.

After a moment of her patting the area with a towel, she said, “So, you want to tell me or am I going to find out by reading the news tomorrow?”

Involving her would only put her in danger, and I’d already lost too many in my life to risk it. “Let’s just say, if anyone asks, I was working here all night.”

I peered up at her through clenched lashes, feeling the effects of my meds starting to take, and my vision slowly started to restore. While I was still in massive pain, the light sensitivity had eased some. Looking at my aunt, I could see the toll the last few months had taken on her. She loved my sister and I like we were her own, and now that Andi had gone missing, it opened up old wounds and created fresh new hellish ones that we both were feeling.

She looked more tired than usual, and there was a streak of gray woven in her copper-colored hair that hadn’t been there before. Her brow was furrowed as she tended to me and the soft wrinkles that lined her face seemed deeper somehow. Like the stress of it all had aged her a decade in only a few months’ time.

“I’m going to find her, Dee,” I promised, whispering it with a solemn certainty that I felt all the way down to my bones. I had to find her. She was my other half, and life didn’t make sense without her.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Aunt Dee Dee said, securing the bandage in place with an expression I couldn’t quite place. The air was full of unsaid words. Andi’s disappearance was a weight both of us were forced to carry. One that felt unbearable at times, even with my aunt there to shoulder the load.

She might have been my mother’s stepsister, but she’d taken Andi and I in at the impressionable age of thirteen without even a question. Adopting us as her own and becoming a secondary mother to us in her own right. Helping us to navigate the monumental loss of our parents while still owning and operating the best-known club in the city. We were all each other had left in terms of family, but I refused to believe that Andi was gone for good. I would have felt it. Being a twin, I’d always been able to feel her in some way, and that hadn’t changed since she went missing. That thin, frail tether between us gave me a sliver of hope that she was still out there, waiting for me to find her.

I knew going after Andi was a risk, but there was no one else that was stupid enough to go against the Underwoods. But me? I wasn’t stupid. I was enraged, and maybe a little reckless, but that had been my winning combination my whole life, and I knew just how to use it to my advantage. I’d trained just for the occasion to take them down after what they’d done to our family. But now that they’d taken Andi on top of everything? I was more than willing to rain all my rage upon their heads. I sunk deeper into the couch cushions letting the velvety feel envelope my aching body as the distant thump of loud club music began to fade to the background. The meds were fully kicking in now, pulling me into unconsciousness.

I’d bring Andi home again if it was the last thing I did.

Chapter Two

CALLAHAN

Gemini

Your daily horoscope: New adventures await! But not everything that glitters is gold. Use your discernment to help assist you in navigating rough waters.

I was twelve years old when I first killed a man. And ever since, I’d become so adept at it that I might as well have been called a reaper.

The day I became a killer, happened when my mother’s latest crappy ass boyfriend, Phil, had come to our apartment, drunk as a skunk pushing his way through our locked door and swinging on my mom, accusing her of cheating. He got in a few good punches, making her left eye swell and bottom lip bleed before I snapped, tackling him to the ground. His head smashed into my mom’s ceramic statue of Artemis. The fall killed him instantly.

“What did you do, you little shit? What the fuck did you do?” My mother screamed, pulling me up by the back of my neck and shaking my shoulders. I couldn’t move. I could only stare down at Phil, feeling numb as I watched blood seep out from his head, staining the cream-colored carpet a morbid shade of deep crimson.

A part of me knew I was broken then.

Killing a man should have made me feel something, but all I could muster was the relief that he was gone. He couldn’t hurt us anymore. I thought my mother would understand. That she would thank me for intervening. For stopping him. Phil would have killed her if I hadn’t stepped in. Of that I was damn sure. He had this look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. One that chilled me to the bone.

But my mom didn’t thank me. She called me a demon. A devil just like my dead father. And when the cops came to take me away to juvi, she turned her back on me. The last words she ever spoke to me were that I was no son of hers.

That was twenty years ago now. And my reputation as a cold-blooded killer got the notice of the Underwoods. The family that basically owned and operated the city of Starfell like it was their own personal playground.

They found me incarcerated, surviving by sheer luck and pure wit with only a few bruises to speak of, which was a fucking miracle with how frequently the boys on my row ended up in a brawl. They only spared me because I’d made them laugh on my first day there, making a joke about the warden and how he resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy with his pasty complexion, round face, and lack of facial expression. I swore if I were to poke him in the stomach, he would let out a “Woohoo” sound.