Page 85 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ZORA
The door to my office flies open, and it bangs against the wall, making me jump in my desk chair.
Shit.
Miriam poses in the doorway like a Black Charlie’s Angel, a grocery bag dangling above her head and a hand clasping the edge of the doorframe.
Despite the emptiness that has dogged me for a week, I snicker. The woman coined the termextra.
“Oh for ...” Levi lifts her arm and steps over her stretched-out leg, entering the office and tugging on the hem of his vest.
It’s after seven thirty in the evening, and my brother is still impeccably dressed in a three-piece blue-and-gray pinstripe suit, as if it’s seven thirty in the morning. I don’t know how he does it. It’s a little unsettling, and if we hadn’t shared a womb, I’d check his back for a battery panel.
“You have no flair for the dramatic, Leviticus. Your soul is going to shrivel and perish without watering it with the arts.”
“I’ll survive,” he drawls. “And you took one semester of theater in high school where you played Dancer Number fucking Three onThe Corny Collins ShowinHairspray. That does not make you a thespian.”
Miriam jabs a finger at the back of his head as he sprawls into the chair in front of my desk. I think he rendered her speechless. Levi has that effect on people. That and stirring homicidal urges.
“You’re the first person going when they enact the purge, guy,” she mutters, stalking to my desk and plopping her grocery bag on the top. “Here. I made a promise, and I’m here to fulfill it.”
With that announcement she takes the chair next to Levi.
“Should I even ask what you two are doing here?” I ask, reaching for the bag.
It’s late, and everyone is gone no later than six. Me included. But I can’t stand being at the house that used to be my haven. Now, it’s become the opposite. I can’t even enter without seeing Cyrus and myself against the wall next to my front door. Or remembering us on my couch. I even swear I can catch his scent on my sheets from one of the nights we spent together in my bed, and I’ve washed those sheets at least three times.
Work keeps my days busy, occupies my mind. And this office has become my sanctuary in the evenings until I tire myself out to the point that I can’t think about Cyrus.
It hasn’t worked so far, but I’m no quitter.
“What’s this?” I pull out a container of strawberry-cheesecake ice cream, a family-size bag of sour-cream-and-onion chips, and three plastic spoons.
“You don’t remember?” Miriam holds out her hands. “I told you when the shit hit the fan I would bring all that and binge with you. ’Cause that’s what sisters do.”
“Then what am I doing here?” Levi asks.
“Learning empathy. I thought tinmen wanted hearts.”
“Filthy rumor.”
I chuckle and, shit, hate the sting of tears springing to my eyes. Pushing the carton and bag toward them, I shake my head.
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
“What thefuck?” Levi slowly leans forward, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “Are you fucking crying?”
An ice storm coalesces in my chest, slicking through my veins. I blink, glancing at Miriam, who appears just as shocked at our brother’s reaction.
“Uhh ... no?”
“Don’t lie to me,” he snaps. “Yes, you are. Your eyes are wet. Who the hell made you cry? Name.” An unholy smile spreads across his face. “Address.”
“Ohshit,” Miriam whispers.
“Zora.” Levi slaps his hand on the desktop. “What’s his name? Because I’m assuming it’s a man. And I don’t need the details—matter of fact, I prefer not to have the details—but if someone fucked with my sister, he’s going to get fucked with right back.”
