Violet Grenade(84)

"I'm falling for you," he whispers. "If something happens to you, it'll destroy me."

His lips crash into mine.

My body reacts instantly. My arms twine around his neck, and he tugs me against him. And there, in the space between the main house and the smaller one where I'll earn our escape, Cain kisses me. I kiss him back, too. Because that question he asked me in the car. About whether I saw the two of us being different-and better-together, has haunted me. I know the answer.

Yes.

From the moment I saw his two-layered eyes outside that alley. From the moment I recognized his pain as a worthy contender against my own, I wanted him. He knows my darkest secret, and yet he holds me in his arms, his lips moving against mine tenderly.

His fingers clutch my back, rising until they reach beneath my pink wig and slide into my own hair. Chills rush over my skin, wave after wave, as the stars plummet to the earth. I feel small in his arms, breakable. It's a welcomed difference to the explosiveness I've felt with others. As if I were a moment away from taking their lives.

Cain moves his lips from mine and trails a line of warm, delicious kisses down my throat. Then he lifts his mouth to my ear and says, "Stay with me."

But now, more than ever, after I've admitted to myself how I feel about this boy, I know I must go.

"Give me three days," I say, my head against his chest. "And then I will stay with you. As long as you want me."

"Forever," he answers suddenly. "It's too soon to say that, I know. But right now, I can't imagine a time when I won't want you."

I push away from him, knowing if I don't go now, I won't be able to. "When you put it that way, then three days is nothing." I force a smile and lay a hand on his chest, grip his shirt in my hand. Then I let go and turn toward the Lilies' house. 

He says my name three more times as I walk away, each more urgent than the last. But I don't look back.

Do you prefer him over me? Wilson asks quietly.

Don't start, Wilson. Don't ruin this moment for me.

Wilson licks his lips, thinking. I like him, you know. I just don't want to be replaced. He can't carry your pain the way I can.

Maybe he could.

Wilson flinches like I've wounded him deeply. He crawls away, cowering.

I don't hear from him again that night.

It bothers me more than I care to admit. For all my talk of being frightened of Wilson's presence and what it means, it scares me far worse to imagine him gone.





Chapter Fifty-Three

West House

I knock on the Lilies' door several times before letting myself in. A girl with spiky black hair laughs when I step inside.

"I wondered when you'd decide to open that door," she says. "Did you think we had a butler or something?"

Another Lily rounds the corner and enters the cramped living room. "You're the new girl, right? Course you are. A few rules before Madam Karina comes to mark our hands. First, you don't have a room. You'll have to sleep out here. You can fight Bridget for the couch." She motions to the girl with black hair. "But most likely you'll end up on the floor. Second, if you need to use one of the bedrooms while a customer is here, tell me in advance."

"How far in advance?" I ask.

"As far as you can."

"I'm going to need a bedroom tonight," I say.

Both girls gawk at me. The one with the punk hair grins and says, "Gotta admire her confidence."

The girl who's laying out the rules crosses her arms. I take in her features-high forehead, cheeks that hint at rosacea, and an underbite that's almost endearing. Her wrists are thin and her ankles thick, and the lazy way she speaks tells me she's been a Lily for a while. And that most likely, she is Point Girl here.

"My name is Marie," she says. And then, as if these two facts go together, "Keep the customers happy however you'd like, but if you were a virgin when you walked in that door, you'll be one when you walk out."

"No pokey, pokey," Punk Girl adds, giggling.

Marie rolls her eyes and acts as if she's annoyed. As for me, I'm reeling from their forthrightness. I expected more behind-closed-doors shenanigans. Like, maybe if I wanted to do more than kiss Jack, I'd have to keep my mouth shut and keep up appearances.

Marie rears back and screams over her shoulder for the other girls to get their butts moving. Then she points at me. "Not sure why you're showing up late, but tomorrow you'll have double duty. We have to keep our place clean and the Violets', so don't plan on occupying that room too long."

With that, she turns and leaves the room. I'm stuck taking in my surroundings as Punk Girl studies me. The living area has a floral couch, wood paneling, worn carpet with vacuum lines, and a fireplace that looks as if it hasn't been used in years. Sporadic gold lamps, books, and stock paintings give the place a middle-class homey feel. The home is grossly outdated, but clean.