Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
But I’ve grown, and his roof isn’t mine anymore.
“What are you doing here?” The words wrench themselves out, mostly because I know Dad will stand there and stare at me until I speak first. It’s some fucking weird power thing he does.
“My son’s getting married. I came to make sure you were really going to show up.”
“Why does everyone think I’m going to run?”
“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?” Dad’s fingers grip onto the edge of the frame as he leans closer, but his feet don’t move. “I want to be clear about something. I didn’t request this marriage.”
“I never thought you did.”
“I actively fought against it, but Arsen was insistent.”
“That’s real nice. Thanks for the help.”
“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Dad snaps sharply, and for one brief moment, I’m a kid again and he’s a giant with a belt in his hand. Old scars, long faded, pulse with bloody pain and naked fear. “Whatever you think this is, you’re wrong. The Sarkissians don’t do charity. Not even with some second-tier worthless girl cousin. No, they’re going to use you up and spit you out, and I won’t stand in their way. That’s what I’m here to tell you. As far as I’m concerned, all we share is a name.”
“And if I had my way, we wouldn’t share even that.”
“Don’t embarrass me today, boy. You’ll regret it, I swear—“
“You don’t get to come in here after months of silence and threaten me.” The anger spills out before I can bottle it again. The heat’s always inside me lurking beside my bones, and I’ve gotten very good at keeping it leashed and silent, but this is too much. The fury burns, a forest fire of memory turning my veins to ash. Hate courses down into my heart, and there’s a reason I’m broken, there’s a reason all I know is thieving and lying and sneaking around. I am what I’ve been made, and this is the hammer that smashed me to the anvil, this bastard of an old man standing here like he gets to tell me a damn thing anymore.
“You’re still a McGrath despite everything.” His lips curl with distaste. “What you do reflects on me. Remember that. Whatever the Sarkissians want, you’ll give them.”
“Go to hell, old man. I’m not yours to use anymore.”
“Tell yourself that all you want.” Dad’s mouth opens for more, but Riley appears at his shoulder.
“Everything okay?” she asks, putting her hand on his arm. Dad looks back at my sister and grunts something in reply. He steers himself away, shuffling past her.
“He’s yours now,” Dad grumbles, throwing one last glance before descending the stairs, back down to the main section of the church.
I slam my drink, crush the cup, and throw it at the wall. Riley comes in and shuts the door behind her. “What’d he want?”
“The usual. Threats and power trips.” I take a slug straight from the bottle and thrust it at Riley. “Take this before I fuck up and drink too much.”
She eases it from my hands and tucks it under her arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Dad’s an asshole. I don’t know what he said, but he doesn’t matter anymore, right?”
“Right.” I look at the ceiling, seething. The rage won’t release me from its grip. Once it’s out, it’s a stampeding thing, a wild and consuming gullet, eating and swallowing and killing until it works itself to sleep again.
“Tallie’s down there. They’re about to get started.” Riley touches my elbow. “She’s waiting for you.”
Fuck. I want to strangle my father. I want to hear the wet thud the bottle would make if I smashed it to his forehead.
But Riley’s right, Tallie’s waiting. She’s in a dress and she probably spent all morning getting ready.
I can’t let her down.
Even if half the people in this god forsaken place think I’m going to.
“How’s she look?” I manage to say the words without sounding like a lunatic.
Riley pats my shoulder happily. “You’re a lucky guy, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Then show me to my bride and let’s get this done.”
CHAPTER 9
TALIN
There are so many eyes.
That’s all I keep thinking: look at all those eyes.
Big ones, small ones, dark and light ones, some eyes lined with black and others sallow and weird. Some eyes are missing: those don’t bother me all that much though. I’m used to seeing injured men.
The eyes don’t turn away. They stare at me, some leaking water, others blinking disconcertingly slow, but so many of them, thousands of eyes all connected back to brains, to living organisms, to breathing human beings most of which I don’t recognize. Strangers watching more strangers say some magic words to make us—what, trapped together forever?
Too many eyes judging, all those eyes thinking they know what’s best, thinking they know me at all. Like if I do the wrong thing, say the wrong words, move my body in a way that those eyes don’t like, I’ll become the wrong thing myself, and I hate that. I want to shrink away. It’s what I’ve always done. Usually, it’s so easy to disappear in my house, a place built for nine siblings but only keeping four now, and with Annie to always cast her long shadow. There she is now, my pretty sister, looking angelic, but today the eyes are for me.