Page 174 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Her hand found an ancient tube of Chapstick. She rubbed it across her lips, probably infecting them with some disease, but I’d still slam my mouth onto hers.
Her legs kicked at the four giant boxes beside the vanity, dress sneaking up her thigh. “Think I can fit these in the closet?”
“The closet?”
Her hand shot to her mouth. “Shit.”
“The closet?” I repeated, trying to figure out why she suddenly looked panicked. “Spill.”
“Nash—”
“I’ll find out.” I opened one of the boxes. Piles of Winthrop Textiles shirts filled it. I didn’t know what to think of it other than I needed her shirts, but I hated where they came from. “You know I’m persistent. It’s easier for both of us to tell me.”
“It's not a big deal.”
“Tell me.” I emphasized, “No lies.”
She caved at the word lie, guilt crossing her face for a fleeting second. “I’ve been living in a closet at the hotel.”
I blew up.
Fucking. Blew. Up.
She pissed me off.
Could she be any more self-sacrificial, infuriating, contradicting, confusing, generous, deviant, remarkable, or fucking goddamn consuming?
My body shook with the vigor of a pipeline drill. I needed to sprint a marathon, swim the entire Pacific, or trek the Amazon. Literally, anything to expend this energy, because mostly, I pissed myself off for not seeing any of this sooner.
I’d started this revenge quest with somewhat noble intentions, but I’d chosen the absolute last person I should have tormented.
“I’ll move.” Emery had the decency to look guilty, just about the wrong damn thing. “I swear, just give me some time to find a place.”
“You think that’s why I’m mad?!”
I shook my head, then shook it again, wondering if it’d rid me of this nightmare situation.
Nope. Still your fucking reality.
Piece of shit, meet your twin. Me.
Backing away from the vanity, my footsteps pounded against the carpet like artillery fire.
“Are you serious?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re starving and homeless, but you’re giving some chick you don’t know over two grand a month for tuition? What the actual fuck, Emery?”
“You know about Demi?” She shook her head, as if it would wipe away the shock.
Nope, sweetheart. Tried that. Didn't work, and here I am, feeling like the biggest asshole in the history of Earth. Napoleon Bonaparte, Christopher Columbus, and Nash motherfucking Prescott.
“What about yourself?” I scrubbed my face. “When are you going to start taking care of yourself?”
“When the guilt fades!”
“What guilt?! Why are you guilty?!”
Fucking hell, this was it.
The moment she told me she’d been involved in the embezzlement.
