Page 79 of Bound By Threads
Roman already looks pissed.
Elijah looks more confused than anything.
“Jesus,” Elijah mutters. “You look like death.”
Roman crouches in front of me. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
I don’t answer right away. Just blink at them, my back still pressed to the wall like I’m afraid the floor might vanish if I move. That Lottie luring me here was just a dream.
“Lottie,” I rasp.
“She locked you in here?” Elijah asks, his voice laced with disbelief.
I nod once.
Roman looks between me and the closet like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make sense.
“She locked you in a damn closet,” he steps inside. “You’re sweating through your shirt, and you look like hell. Is this your idea of giving up?”
“I’m not giving up,” I say quietly, “I’m making amends. I’m listening to what she wants.Wehurt her, and now she wants revenge. I was first.”
Roman scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’ve lost it. I can’t believe you let her do it. She’s always been a manipulative little?—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off sharply, forcing myself to my feet even though I feel like I might throw up from the movement. “Don’t do that. We’re the ones who wronged her. She was trying to survive.”
He barks a bitter laugh. “Right, because she’s a saint now? She ran off, played dead, changed her name, and turned herself into some high-end stage fantasy. She locks you in a janitor’s closet, and you think it’s some noble quest for her forgiveness?” He shakes his head. “You’re stupid if you think that’s what this is. She’s playing you, just like she tried to do when she played mute, and you were always nearly stupid enough to fall for it. Scarlett Reyes is a snake… I won’t help you if you let her bite you willingly.”
Elijah’s jaw tenses, but he stays quiet, standing just behind Roman like he doesn’t know which side to be on. His eyes flick from me to the walls, and then back to me, like he’s looking for proof that she did this.
That I’m not exaggerating, or the drugs have finally made me lose my mind.
I get it because I look like shit.I feel like shit. My clothes are sticking to my skin, my head is pounding, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t blinked in two minutes.
But I’m staying because this is what she needs.
“I’m not asking for your help,” I tell Roman, letting my head fall back against the wall. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because this is what she needs. I should have never been the reason she felt powerless.”
Roman straightens, hands on his hips, glaring down at me like I’m a disappointment he can’t bear to watch self-destruct. “You think you’re doing a favor by sitting in the dark like a kicked dog?”
“Nope. I think I’m doing the bare minimum.”
Elijah steps forward. “Crew, you’re barely hanging on. If she wanted to talk, she would have. Not locked you in this closet.”
“She did talk,” I tell them, surprising them both. “She told me she wanted revenge. She wants us to feel what she did. I took something from her, Elijah. Something that I don’t get to just apologize for and walk away clean.” I look between them both. “And she’s not ignoring me anymore. She chose me first. That’s something.”
Roman throws his hands up. “You’re delusional! You’d rather rot in here to get scraps of attention from the girl who played dead without a word for two years?”
I snap my head toward him. “You think this is about attention?”
“You said it yourself,” he fires back. “She’s finally talking to you. You think this means something… that it’s a fucking quest to get her attention and forgiveness but all I can see is some desperate drug addict. Someone desperate enough to accept being punished like a dog because it’s better than being forgotten.”
He takes a deep breath, then looks at me. “I’ve picked up the pieces that she destroyed. I’ve done CPR on you while you OD’d. I have done everything in my power to protect the three of us while making deals with the likes of Pacheco to take my dad down. If you want to choose some whore over me… your brother, then feel free. You think she’s doing this to find peace? No. She’s doing it to twist the knife.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and I mean it. “Let her twist it. At least she’s holding the blade.”
For a moment, Roman doesn’t respond. His mouth opens like he wants to keep arguing, but then he just sneers and steps back out of the closet. “You want to play martyr? Fine. Rot here. Just don’t come crying when she turns on you. If she tries this bullshit with me, I’ll destroy her like I did before.”
He stalks off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
