Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

“Never be ashamed of the things that make you different. That’s where your true power lies.”

Not even five minutes in, and the fun has already started. It’s no wonder rates of depression spike around holidays. That’s when people spend the most time with their relatives.

A tall figure dressed all in black stands outside the gate, looking up at the house. Though his face is obscured by distance and shadow, I don’t have to glimpse his features to know who it is. I’d know Ronan Croft anywhere, in any lighting, even in the inky blackness at the bottom of the sea. You never forget your first love. Especially when he’s also your worst nightmare. Ronan remains motionless until the clouds obscure the moon again, then he’s swallowed by the same darkness that produced him and disappears.

Ronan. His eyes, his scent, his mouth on my skin … I loved him with a desperation that felt like madness. No greater fool exists than a teenage girl ensnared in the trap of first love.

We stand in respectful silence for a moment, until Bea says, “What’s that?” She points at something wedged between Lorinda’s elbow and the cream satin lining of the casket. I lean over and pluck it out. It’s a feather. A glossy black bird’s feather, as long as my forearm. Smiling, Davina shakes her head. “Oh, Mother. You and your birds.” Bea looks at me in confusion, but gets distracted by the sight of Davina withdrawing an elegant pearl-handled knife from a pocket of her dress. “Here. Put this in the casket.” Bea stares at the knife Davina’s offering her as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. Which it undoubtedly is. “Why would you want that in her casket?” “Because she’ll need it where she’s going.” I look at the ceiling and exhale in a gust. Why is my family so determined to be flamboyantly strange? It’s as if they’re getting paid for it. “Your mother can sigh all she wants, Bea darling, but before we can pass through Death’s cleansing fire and be remade, we have to battle some nasty characters in our journey through the underworld.” “For God’s sake, Auntie D. She’ll have nightmares for months.” She dismisses my parental concern with a flick of her wrist. “Life is a knife fight. Why should the afterlife be any different?” “That’s just great. Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be discussing this in therapy for years to come.” “Don’t be ridiculous. Blackthorns don’t need therapy. We make other people need therapy. Bea, put the knife in the casket along with these....

“What was that old man in the wheelchair saying about the birds who attacked him? That was weird.” I open my eyes to find Bea staring at me, her chin resting on her folded hands, her green eyes bright with curiosity. I keep my face stony when I respond. “Poor Mr. Croft. He fell and hit his head. His mind hasn’t been the same since.”

God, that voice. Honey and smoke, velvet and sin, rough yet soft and seductive. It’s pure sex. I should’ve brought the pistol.

“You’re looking well. More intimidating than usual. Must be the hair. Did you ask your stylist to match it to the color of your soul?” I remember this. The unshakable confidence. The playful, caustic humor. The way he could pin me in his stare and make me feel like I was the only person in the world. Or invisible. “Actually, I asked her to make it match the color of yours. Go away before I shoot you.” He lifts his brows. Not in fear or surprise, I’m simply entertaining him. “With a firearm?” “No, with a speargun.” My tone drips sarcasm. If only it were acid. “Ah. Needed some protection from the local sharks, hmm?” He glances over my shoulder at the house, then looks back at me. His pale eyes hold a challenge. The emotion his appearance initially caused in me flares abruptly into rage. “I hate you.” He chuckles. “You said that out loud.” “Good. I don’t want there to be any confusion.” He sucks on his cigarette, exhaling through his nostrils so smoke billows out in gray, dragon-like plumes. When he speaks, his voice is soft and intimate, a hand languidly caressing my bare skin. “You don’t hate me, Bugs.” “If you want to keep your kneecaps in working order, don’t ever call me that again.” “I don’t hate you, either. Not even a little bit. Not even a particle.” “Stop talking and go.” “Did you think about me over the last dozen years?” “Sure, lots of times. They all involved violence.” He nods, as if that answer makes total sense to him.

She’s as alluring as ever. That soft, husky voice. Those luminous green eyes. The fierce individuality and unapologetic defiance that’s always marked her character. She was a girl when she left. Now, she’s all woman. Sleek, elegant, confident. Dangerous curves and sharpened claws, a sorceress who knows the power she wields and exactly how to use it. Her voice dripping honey and venom, she said my name and jolted all my darkest instincts to life.

“Let me make myself clear. I don’t want your help with this or anything. My family is none of your business. Get lost.” “None of my business? That’s a stretch, considering how close you and I were.” His amused tone turns throaty. “Do you remember how many times we were together? Because I sure do.” His smirk is so aggravating, it takes every ounce of my self-control not to take off my sensible shoe and throw it at him. “I don’t remember anything except that you’re the worst mistake I ever made. If I don’t put a bullet between your eyebrows while I’m here, it will be a miracle.” “Eight.” I stare at him, disappointed that my eyes aren’t laser beams capable of slicing him into tiny, less villainous pieces. “It’s the number of times we fucked. Eight.” “You’re hallucinating. It was half that at most.” His burning gaze locked to mine, he slowly shakes his head. “The time in the greenhouse on top of the bags of soil. Twice in my bedroom. Once in your bedroom. Three times in the backseat of my car. And of course the first time where we did it standing up in the alley behind the movie theater after you threw your soda in my face and called me a soulless, spoiled brat with the intellect of a garden slug.”

Yes, most men can make a woman orgasm if they put their minds to it. But almost never can a man make a woman feel as if she’s seen the true face of god. Ronan managed it every time we were together. But I’d rather have my nose smashed in with a brick than admit he had any effect on me whatsoever.

“I really don’t recall. Now run along and go play with your daddy’s money, you Cymothoa exigua.” “Ooo, she’s breaking out the Latin. Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” He thinks for a moment. “Cockroach?” “Don’t insult my intelligence.” “Okay, I give up. What’s a Cymothoa exigua?” “A small, parasitic isopod that affixes itself to the tongue of a fish and sucks it dry of blood until the tongue dies and falls off. Then the creepy little fucker lives on the dead tongue’s stub inside the fish’s mouth until the fish starves to death, and the parasite has to find another host.” Ronan starts to laugh. Softly at first, then he throws his head back, closes his eyes, and really gets into it. When I walk off without another word, he calls out after me. “Don’t be sore, Bugs. For a minute there, we were getting along so well!”

“I’m curious about something.” “What a new experience that must be for you. I suggest having one of your minions conduct online research to find an answer.” “Don’t be mean.” “Believe me, if I were being mean, you’d already be missing a few fingers.” “Fine. Humor me with the answer to a question. If you answer honestly, I promise I won’t bother you again.” I narrow my eyes and examine his expression. He appears sincere, so I grudgingly relent. “What is it?” His pause is long enough to be uncomfortable. Then, his voice low and his gaze intense, he says, “Does our daughter know who her real father is?”

“Lorinda’s dress, shoes, and undergarments were found on the ground outside the open window of the room where her viewing took place. It appears that’s how she was removed from the premises.” Whatever my face is doing makes Mr. Anderson turn pale. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You’re telling me someone took my grandmother’s corpse from its casket, stripped it, then took it out through a window?” He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Well … yes.” I stare at him in open-mouthed shock. Ronan says, “This is where you hope your liability insurance premiums are up to date, Anderson. Let’s see the clothing.”

“Temper, temper. I forgot how sharp those claws of yours are.” “No, you didn’t.” He chuckles again. “You’re right. I didn’t. I’ve still got the scars on my back.” I glance at him but can’t tell from his expression if that comment had a sexual undertone. Then he sends me a heated sideways look, complete with his signature smirk, and I have my answer. “You’re unbelievable.” “Thank you.” “It wasn’t a compliment. Stop grinning like a clown.” “This is just my face. I can’t help how my face is.” “Sure you can. Pick up a rock and bash yourself in the nose with it. Or I’ll be happy to do it for you.” “I adore it when you threaten me with violence. Did I ever tell you that?” “God, I regret I came home.” “I don’t. This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Use that sarcastic tone with me again, and I’ll ensure you can’t have children.” “More children, you mean.” I close my eyes and exhale a hard breath through my nostrils. It feels like fire. “It’s not unreasonable for a father to want to see his child. Aside from also being my legal right, that is.” “Are you kidding me with this? My grandmother’s naked corpse was stolen through a window, and you’re suddenly interested in discussing visitation rights to a daughter you never wanted in the first place?” “I wanted her. I just didn’t know it then.” “I’m not going to dignify that nonsense with a response.” “I searched for you, you know. For years, I’ve had the best private detectives looking for you. But it was as if you vanished. Outside Solstice, Maven Blackthorn doesn’t exist.” “If you’re hoping I’ll congratulate you for attempted stalking, good luck.” “You changed your name, didn’t you? Made yourself a whole new identity so you couldn’t be found.” “I’m in the middle of a family emergency, if you hadn’t noticed. I don’t have time for the Spanish Inquisition.” “Look at me.” “I’d rather eat glass.”

“I want to meet my daughter. Stonewalling won’t change that. It’s up to you if we do this the hard way or the easy way.” That makes me scoff. “You’re threatening me with legal action?” “I don’t want to have to do that, but what’s mine is mine. Let’s do this on good terms.” I can’t help the small laugh that passes my lips. “God. The arrogance is astounding. You’re really something else.” “Is that a yes?” “It’s a no because your child doesn’t exist. I miscarried shortly after I left. Bea’s father is an ocular surgeon who lives in Los Angeles. Dr. Brett Lattman.” Ronan stares at me with thinned lips, narrowed eyes, and an air of raging doubt. “I can tell by that constipated expression you don’t believe me, but all you’d need to do is see her. She’s nine, Ronan. The math doesn’t work.” When I tire of him staring at me in doubtful silence, I pull my cell phone from the pocket of my coat and enter my passcode to unlock it. I navigate to a recent picture of Bea, then turn the screen toward him. “That’s Bea. Notice the date on the photo is from a few weeks ago. Also, notice how she looks nothing like you, especially those unnerving colorless eyes that peer from under the Neanderthal foreheads of everyone in your family. Finally, notice how small she is. Satisfied?” He stares at the photo so long, my arm starts to ache. Then he says, “Only the men in my family have those eyes. And she could just be small for her age. That picture proves nothing.” I drop my arm to my side and sigh. ...

This is the hill we died on. He’s a good man, but loving me is like loving a cactus. The more you ignore me, the better we’ll get along. Get too close, however, and my sharp thorns will draw blood. If the Avoidant Attachment relationship style had a poster child, I’d be it. Thank you, Ronan Croft.

“Go away.” “I was here first.” “I won’t sit here and stare at the back of your head while I eat my food.” “You’d rather stare at my face instead? All you had to do was ask.” He drops into the seat on the other side of my booth. When I lower the menu, I’m nearly blinded by his smile. It’s so huge, it can probably be seen from Jupiter. “What is it with you and all the toothy grins? You look like a crocodile.” “Thank you.” “Again, not a compliment.” “Sure it is. Crocodiles are smart, strong, and intimidating.” “They’re also ugly and can’t chew their food.” I can tell he’s trying hard not to laugh out loud, which aggravates me even more. He muses, “Do you think it’s fate that we keep meeting this way?” “No, I think I did something terrible in a past life, and you’re the punishment. Please go back to your own table.”

“I was just wondering how much trouble I’d be in if I asked if you’d be up for a hate fuck. You know, for old time’s sake.” My heartbeat triples. Blood rushes up my neck and to my ears and settles there. I swallow, forcing myself to hold his gaze and not squirm in my seat. “A lot. So don’t ask.” His tone innocent, he says, “I wasn’t. I was only wondering.”

“I think you were doing me an injustice when you called me a lady. I’m nowhere near as well-behaved as that.” “I would’ve said ‘rabid wolverine’ but I didn’t think it would go over.”

He ridiculed me, he taunted me, he humiliated me every chance he got. Then he’d do an about-face and pretend like I didn’t exist, breezing past me in the hallways at school with his nose in the air and his eyes averted. And still, I loved him. Love isn’t blind like they say. It’s total insanity.

“Ronan.” “Yes?” “Thank you for pulling me out of harm’s way.” “Saving your life, you mean.” “I wasn’t finished. Thank you for pulling me out of harm’s way, now let me go. This is very uncomfortable.” His grip on me remains steadfast. His gaze turns from worried to smoldering. “Why would it be uncomfortable?” “Because I dislike you intensely.” “Not hate? We’re making progress. Maybe you’re uncomfortable for some other reason. Hmm. What could it be?” “Whatever fairy tale you’re concocting in your stunted neocortex is incorrect.” “You know what I find interesting?” “Other than how I haven’t dismembered you and thrown your body into a ditch yet?” “No. How you had the presence of mind to hold on to your umbrella.” He drops his head and whispers hotly next to my ear, “And how you can’t stop looking at my mouth.”

“Strong as ever.” “Not at all. I’m much stronger than I was at seventeen. I have you to thank for that.” “You’re angry.” He waits for an explanation, but it won’t come. I stopped explaining myself to him the day I told him I was pregnant, and his face curdled like bad milk. There’s no pain on earth like that. It’s horror, shame, humiliation, rejection, anguish, disillusionment, and abandonment, all in one. When she’s made to feel worthless by the man who holds her heart, a woman either crumbles and never recovers or grows a callus over the pain to survive. In my case, I grew an entire suit of armor. I grew a fortress made of steel.

My daughter’s eyes are reflected back at me in the bathroom mirror, that same remarkable shade of palest ice that belongs to the boy who abandoned us so long ago.

Those musings lead my mind down a road it’s trodden a thousand times before. Namely, my child with Maven. The one she claims she miscarried. Though the picture she produced of her daughter showed no signs of my family’s coloring or features, there was something in the way she looked at the camera that was startlingly familiar. Unsmiling, head turned slightly to the side, gaze guarded, as if she didn’t want her picture taken. It’s the same expression I wear in every photo taken of me. Which is why I need to find out everything I can about this ocular surgeon in Los Angeles Maven mentioned, Dr. Brett Lattman. I looked him up online, of course, and stared at the headshot on his practice’s website for far too long.

The official cause was ruled accidental. The coroner said she lost her footing and slipped. It was December and icy that day so it was plausible, but they neglected to include one important detail in their final report. Her footprints weren’t the only thing they found in the snow around the building. They also found wheelchair tracks.

It’s irritating that he’s so good-looking. Villains are supposed to be hideous.

“Good morning, fair Maven. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” “There’s no need to talk like you’re in a Shakespeare play.” “If that were the case, I would’ve said ‘good morrow.’ Isn’t it a little early to be scowling so hard?” “My retinas are trying to recover from the glare generated by this giant disco ball you live in.” I reach the front porch, stop, and gaze up at him. He’s standing one step above me and so is taller than usual. He seems to enjoy it, however, gauging by how much easier it is for him to stare condescendingly down his nose at me. He says, “Is that a smile?” “No, this is just what my face does when I smell something stinky.” “Oh good. For a second there, I thought hell had frozen over.” It’s a contest to see how long we can keep our faces straight. He wins when I start laughing. Grinning, he says, “What’s that awful noise you’re making? You sound like a herniated donkey.” “At least I don’t look like one. And stop flashing those expensive veneers at me. I’m blind enough as it is.” He makes spokesmodel hands at himself. “These teeth are natural, as is everything else about me.” “Except your ego, which was grown in a lab. Are you going to invite me in or what?” He morphs from teasing to solemn in a snap. “Oh, that’s right. Dracula needs an invitation to enter someone’s home. Please, Princess of Darkness, come in.”

“What the hell is that?” “The cooktop. It’s state-of-the-art induction technology.” I stare at the cooktop in confusion. It’s devoid of dials, switches, or any visible form of operation. “How do you turn it on? Verbal command?” “Human sacrifice. If you could just step a little closer…” His smile is irritatingly appealing. Even my vagina thinks so. She’s suddenly generating more heat than Ronan’s modern stovetop ever could. “Have you ever actually cooked on that?” “No. It’s just for looks.” “Ah. Like your entire existence.” “Do you want to see the refrigerator?” “I can barely contain my excitement.”

“I never cook, either. Don’t have the time.” “Too busy scaring all the neighborhood children, I imagine.” “It’s a full-time job, really. Like yours, looking pretty and being useless.” “Ouch. Although wait—did you just call me pretty?” I meander closer to the computer. From this angle, I can see that the screen is open to a web page. Seized with curiosity about what he was reading when I rang at the gate, I casually keep walking, trailing my fingers along the smooth, cold edge of the stone. “Did I say pretty? Silly me. I meant petty.” “That would sting a lot more if it made any sense. Nobody looks petty.” “Guess you haven’t passed a mirror lately.”

“I came by today because—” “Take your hair out of the braid.” Startled, I confirm I heard what I thought I heard before giving him a look meant to eviscerate. It only makes him smile wider. “Nobody on earth gives the evil eye like you do.” “It’s a gift. Can I tell you why I came now or are you going to make another random demand that I’ll ignore?” “You can tell me why you came until you’re red in the face. Again, I mean. It still won’t make a difference. I won’t help you until you take your hair out of that hideous braid.” Insulted, I raise my hand to my head. “It’s not hideous. It’s utilitarian.” “Between that and the shapeless gunnysack you’re wearing, you look like you’re about to go churn butter somewhere. Or reshoe the old mare.” Ah, yes. This is classic Ronan. Clever insults delivered with a charming smile. He wields his scorn with the finesse of a swordsman. I feel the heat creeping up my neck but pretend it’s not burning. “Pardon me, Little Lord Fauntleroy, but not all of us can afford five-hundred-dollar haircuts and tailored underpants.” “Take it out.” “What’s the big deal about my braid, for God’s sake?” “Beautiful things shouldn’t be hidden. And your hair is beautiful, even dyed to match coal.” I curl my lip. “You should know me well enough to realize flattery doesn’t work.” “It wasn’t flattery. It was truth. Big difference.”

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep. I’m going to sneak in through a window in the middle of the night, find something pointy and lethal in this antiseptic glass box you call a home, and plunge it straight into your chest, over and over, until you’re so dead, you’ll never remember you were ever alive.” “Really?” “Yes!” “Hmm. Sounds serious.” He’s laughing at me, which makes me even more incensed. “It is!” “You know what else is serious? This.” He takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

“Hello?” “It’s Ronan. Don’t hang up.” Hearing his voice makes my pulse jump. “How did you get this number?” “You were at my house.” “So?” “I have software on my computer that locates and identifies nearby devices.” I’m too stunned to be angry. “Is that legal?” “Of course.” “Don’t say that like you’re above breaking the law to get what you want.” “I’m not, but in this case, I didn’t have to. Technology is amazing. I’m calling to find out how you’re feeling about that kiss.” His voice drops. “Because I’m dying to do it again. Right fucking now. Come back.” “No.” “Fine, I’ll come to you. Where are you?” I cover my eyes with my hand and hunch over the desk, overwhelmed by everything. “You’re not saying anything. You still there?” “I’m still here. Don’t ask me why. And don’t make some smart remark, either.” “Okay.” He pauses. “So we’ll just breathe at each other for a while. I can do that.” “Baloney. You can’t shut up for more than ten seconds at a time.” “Only with you. With everybody else, I’m the silent and mysterious type.” “Please. You forget I knew you when you were a teenager and the most outgoing guy in any room. You’re an extrovert on steroids.” He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is gruff. “People can change.” “No, they can’t. They just get better at pretending. And stop trying to soften me up. I don’t trust you one bit, and I never will.” “When did you become such a cynic?” “Gosh, let’s see. Maybe it was the same week my mother died, I found out ...

“Well. Thank you for that. I’m not sure what else to say. I have to go now. I’m in the middle of a situation.” “What kind of situation?” “A family situation.” His tone sharpens. With every sentence, his voice grows louder until he’s almost barking. “Your grandmother? Did you find out something? What’s happening? Tell me.” “God, relax. You’re like a dog with a bone.” I’m surprised when he does a complete turnabout and chuckles. “What’s so funny?” “You. Let’s talk about the kiss. Was it as good for you as it was for me? Because my dick is still rock-hard.” The image of his erection jutting out proudly from his undone zipper makes my face turn red. “I told you I have a fiancé.” His tone turns challenging. “So you cheated on him by kissing me.” Shit. “Um. Y … es.” “Fucking hell, Maven. You’re the worst liar in the history of the world.” My temper snaps. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to rehash our tragic dead romance—” “It’s not dead.” “—because I’m busy dealing with my ludicrous life—” “It wouldn’t be ludicrous if you’d let me back into it.” “—and I’ll only be in Solstice for a few days—” “Not if I have any say in the matter.” “—so you’ll have to excuse me because I’m hanging up now. And you don’t have any say in the matter.” “I’ll shut down the train station so you can’t leave.” I open my mouth but close it again because he’s rendered me speechless. “I’ll have all the roads closed, too, if I have to.” “Please tell me you’re joking.” “You tell me, since you seem to have me...

“I rescind my request for help with my grandmother. I never want to hear from you or speak to you again.” “I’d believe that if you weren’t moaning into my mouth and desperately grinding against me not even half an hour ago.” My cheeks grow hot. “I beg your pardon. I was not grinding against you.” His voice drops to a low growl. “Baby, you haven’t been fucked right in years, and we both know it. Now stop being stubborn and get your ass back over here. We’ve got a lot of unfinished business to sort through.” When he disconnects the call, I block his number. Then I sit with my eyes closed, breathing deeply, wishing I’d never come home again. The past is a dark and dangerous place, and it’s filled with devils wearing the faces of friends.

“What are you doing?” “What does it look like I’m doing?” I look him up and down with what I hope is withering disdain. “Smoking a cigarette and plotting someone’s murder.” “It’s not murder I’m plotting. I had something much more pleasurable in mind.” His suggestive smile infuriates me. I step closer, dropping my arms to my sides and clenching my fists. “Go away, Ronan.” “How many times are we going to play this ridiculous game? I know you don’t want me to leave.” “You’re right. What I really want is to tie you to a tree, disembowel you with my bare hands, feed your guts to the wolves, and cut off your head so I can impale it on a spike and parade it around the town square in victory in the morning.” His smile is smoldering. “Sweet talker. Keep it up, and I’ll think you’re in love with me.”

“You said you were sorry about how you treated me.” He stares at me with eyes so fierce, they glow. “Yes.” His voice is a rasp. He’s feeling some kind of way about me showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, that’s obvious. Also obvious is that he’s restraining himself from grabbing me and dragging me inside. That I’ve caught him off guard makes me breathe a little easier. It’s so rare that I get the upper hand. “You said I deserved better.” “Yes.” “You said you were wrong.” “Yes.” My sigh is heavy. “All right, then.” He stares at me in all his half-naked glory, a muscle working in his jaw. “What does that mean? You agree to be friends?” “I’d rather be hit by a bus. But I’m up for a hate fuck if you are.” His eyes flare with heat. Licking his lips, he growls, “What about your fiancé?” I pin him in a death glare. “You know Blackthorns don’t get engaged. But I was in a relationship. I broke it off before I got here. Any other smart questions you’d like to ask me before I change my mind?” He grabs me and pulls me inside, then takes my mouth and kisses me ravenously. I break away to admonish him. “We’re back to enemies tomorrow. This is just a onetime thing. Got it?” Ignoring that, he whips off the towel and tosses it aside, grinning devilishly when I gape at his erection. He picks me up, kicks the door shut, then heads down the hallway to his bedroom.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. This was only supposed to scratch an itch I couldn’t get rid of, nothing more. But apparently, my seventeen-year-old heart has a long, strong memory, because I’m feeling all kinds of ways I haven’t in years. Vulnerable. Bewildered. Scared.

“You good?” Exhaling heavily, I close my eyes. “You made it thirty seconds without speaking. That’s a personal record for sure.” His chest shakes with silent laughter. Then his lips find my skin again, exploring the sensitive space beneath my ear. “I just wanted to check to make sure you weren’t reaching for the ice pick you had hidden in your hair.” “I was. I was just giving you a second to catch your breath before I stabbed you with it.” “Wanted me fully recovered before you killed me, hmm?” “Yes. I want it to hurt.” After a moment, I grow serious. “This can’t happen again. You know that, right?” It’s a long time before he says anything. He lies tense and silent behind me, his body thrumming with energy. “I don’t know anything except I’m glad you’re here. Let’s leave all the other bullshit for tomorrow. We can have tonight without having to figure out what it all means right now.” I close my eyes and let him hold me until his breathing slows and deepens and his arms around me grow slack. Then I carefully rise and dress, looking back only once to burn the memory of him sleeping in my mind’s eye before I silently walk out the door.

“Unblock my number right now.” “Or what?” “Or everyone within shouting distance will know that I’m her father.” Shocked by how cruel that would be to Bea if he actually did it, I inhale a sharp breath. “Don’t you dare. You’re not her father.” “The next time you lie to me, you won’t like the consequences. Take out your phone and unblock me.” He steps back and stares at me, unmoved by the livid expression on my face. Seething, I navigate to his phone number and tap the screen a few times. “Satisfied?” “Let me see.” I turn the screen to him, clenching my jaw. “Good. I’m going to call you in two minutes. You better pick up.” “I can’t talk to you right now!” “Figure it out, because it wasn’t a request.” He spins on his heel and walks off.

“How did you know I blocked your number?” “Same way I know how to make you come.” Ignoring the faint heat rising in my cheeks, I lift my chin and pretend indifference. “Because you think you know me.” “Exactly.” “Except you don’t. Why are we doing this in the back of this grocery store?” “I own it.”

“You really hate me that much that you’d keep my own blood from me?” “The blood you denied you wanted in the first place?” “I was seventeen!” “So was I. Just a girl in love with a selfish, heartless boy who didn’t want to be seen in public with her.” “I never said I didn’t want to be—” He cuts off abruptly, staring down at me with furrowed brows and a strange expression taking over his face. At first I think it’s confusion, but then I realize it’s worse. Much worse. It’s understanding. He grasps my jaw, gripping it firmly so that I can’t turn away. “You were in love with me.” It would’ve been bad enough if it was a question, but it wasn’t. It was a statement. I can see it in his eyes, the way his brain is working furiously, going back over every interaction we ever had and casting them into a whole new light. “You were in love with me.” The lump in my throat is too big to talk around, so I bite my tongue and stay silent. “I thought you hated me. I thought you were ashamed to be seen with me. But you were in love with me. You loved me. You loved me.” “Stop saying that! It doesn’t matter.” “It’s the only thing that matters.” I stare at him defiantly. “Why?” “Because if you loved me once, you can love me again.” “I’ll never love you again. I don’t feel anything for you except disgust.” His eyes burn. His jaw clenches. He grits out, “You really are the worst liar in history.” I can’t respond to that because he covers my mouth with his.

“One last time,” I say breathlessly. “Just for old time’s sake.” His laugh is soft and mocking. “Sure, baby. Whatever you say.”

Like it or not, she’s mine. And so are you.

“Hello, Maven.” When I don’t say anything quickly enough, he demands, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He’s so good at deception. He actually sounds worried. Which of course he would, knowing how it would affect me. I swallow, breathe in and out, and feel the hard, painful beat of my heart. “If I ask you a question, will you be honest with me?” He hesitates. “I might. I might not. It depends on what you ask.” “Okay. That’s honest at least. Thank you.” “Before you ask me whatever it is, are you in trouble?” I think about how to answer that. “I suppose it depends on your definition of trouble.” “Have you been arrested?” “No.” “Have you been injured?” “No.” “Are you being held at gunpoint by a band of naked circus clowns demanding you hand over your sensible shoes and hideous clothing?” “No. Stop trying to make me laugh.” “I’m sorry. No, that was a lie. I’m not sorry. I love your laugh. It sounds like sunlight.” We’re both quiet for a moment, until I say, “What the hell was that?” He chuckles. “I have no idea. It just came to me.” “It was super weird.” “Says the super weird girl.”

“You’d be surprised the secrets people can keep if they’re motivated enough.”

“Maven Blackthorn. That name sounds familiar. Let me think … did we used to go to high school together?” “Great, now you’re a comedian.” “Am I right? Were you the one with the crooked teeth and the lazy eye?” “You’re going to have crooked teeth pretty soon if you don’t stop being a jerk.” He hears the tension in my voice and stops teasing me. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” “Oh, no, everything’s wonderful. I spent the entire weekend trying to decode a very cryptic statement this irritating millionaire told me.” “Billionaire.” “What?” “I’m a billionaire, not a millionaire.” “Well, pardon me, Daddy Warbucks. We little people who pay taxes aren’t really clear on the distinction.” “There’s no reason for you to pay taxes.” “Except for this fun thing called tax evasion that could land me in prison, I’d agree with you.” “I can teach you all the tricks. They’re perfectly legal.” “Your definition of legal leaves a lot to be desired. Can I tell you why I’m calling now or are you going to keep trying to get me into trouble with the IRS?” “I know why you’re calling.” I pause to take a breath because he sounds smug again. “It’s not for that.” “Of course it is. You’ll have some other fake reason to trot out first so you can save face, but it’s totally for that.” He pauses. “‘That’ being a euphemism for sex.” “I know what you meant, you wanker.” The smugness returns full force. “I know you did. I just wanted to hear you holler at me.” “I give up.”

“So you’re saying I should trust you.” “Don’t say it with such sarcasm. You can trust me.”

“This friend … he just found out something bad about a woman he was seeing.” I can tell by his tone that whatever it is, it’s dire. I’m intrigued. “She’s cheating on him?” “Worse.” “She stole from him?” “Worse.” “I give up.” “She’s his half-sister.” Shocked, I choke out a laugh. “No. Really?” “Really. And they have a child together.” He clears his throat. “Children.” “Oh God. No wonder he went ballistic. How did they not know?” After a moment of jaw clenching, he grits out, “He was adopted.” “Wow. And I thought we had problems.” When he doesn’t laugh at that, I stop joking and get serious. “So what’s he going to do besides ransack his friends’ houses?” He clenches and unclenches his hands. Then he jerks his chin at me. “What would you have told him to do?” I think for a moment. “Do the kids know?” “Nobody knows but him.” “Well, first of all, he should have the children tested. There’s a good chance they have genetic disorders.” “Genetic disorders,” he repeats, looking ill. “Yes. Inbreeding causes all sorts of problems.” He thinks about that for a beat, then scrubs his hands over his face as if wishing he didn’t hear it. “And he obviously has to stop seeing her.” “Obviously. Yes.” He pauses. “Why, exactly?” “It’s illegal. And against pretty much every ethical and cultural code that exists. It’s one of the ultimate taboos.” “Right. Of course. That’s … that’s what I told him.” “Well, I hope he figures it out, poor guy. I can’t even imagine what a mindfuck it must be.”