Chapter 170

"I... I didn’t know," I stammered.

"I know you didn’t, and no one is blaming you for it. In fact, killing one of your own was a pleasure."

"Even if it might cause you trouble in the future?"

"Nothing causes me more trouble than you. Everything else, I can handle."

I laughed nasally.

"So, you can’t handle me?"

"The fact that I put you under the same roof as mine is a very clear answer," he replied, but his tone shifted.

I couldn’t decode it until his eyes traveled up and down my curves. I couldn’t say for sure it was anything other than hatred, but his next words brought me back to reality:

"Burn them."

I stared at him, confused.

"Speak like a normal person. We’re not cavemen."

"Burn the clothes you have. I don’t want to see you wearing those men’s clothes."

A smile tried to appear on my lips, but I held back to avoid irritating him further.

"You made me lose my job. Which means I can’t afford new clothes."

"We brought everything that’s yours."

"Something’s missing," I retorted. "I don’t know who you asked, but they did a terrible job."

Dante rolled his eyes.

"There are some in one of the bathroom cabinets. Put them on."

He didn’t leave room for further conversation.

I growled in frustration and headed to the bathroom. Opening the cabinet, I found a few old t-shirts, but they were in pristine condition.

I grabbed one randomly, and as I caught its scent, my heart skipped a beat. They were Dante’s clothes. Did he want me to wear them?

I couldn’t believe it.

A heavy sigh woke me from my thoughts. I rolled my eyes when I realized Rachel was watching me with amusement.

"Go away." She stayed. "Shoo! Shoo!"

The dog didn’t move.

I pressed the t-shirt against myself.

"You’re judging me, aren’t you?" She barked. "Don’t do that!"

Rachel didn’t care, moving closer to my leg and attempting to climb it.

I sighed, looking at the t-shirt.

Everyone in that house drove me insane, and, probably, Torman was right. I had no way back. Everything ahead would be even more painful than what had happened years ago.

***

"The drink burned my throat on the first sip. Smoking and drinking were things I used to do quite casually during my early years of grief. It wasn’t excessive, but it wasn’t my best phase either, especially since I was underage.

When I started medical school, I decided to cut back. I didn’t go out as much anymore. Tobacco became my friend only once a week or just before important exams. I gradually dropped the habit on my own before it could consume me and corrode my body.

I swirled the glass once it was empty, licking my lips.

The music pounded in my ears, and the neon lights dilated my pupils, painting the floor and walls. My head swayed to the melody, but I was more preoccupied with figuring out who was staring at me. I could feel someone’s gaze on me from afar.

'Do you want another drink?' Kay asked, leaning close to my ear.

'I don’t. Do you?'

'I do, but I don’t want to go alone.'

Penelope was dancing in front of us with some guy in glasses. She always found someone to entertain her while Kay and I drowned our loneliness in each other’s company. Not that we didn’t have options. Kayleen was against relationships and had a strict rule: guys got attached too easily.

She often explained how the few times she hooked up with someone, it was an exhausting task to get rid of them, and she wasn’t up for that kind of trouble again.

For me, sex was a more complicated matter.

'I’ll go with you.'

Kayleen smiled gratefully, taking my hand and leading us through the crowd toward the beer tap.

The shift from violet to red lights caused a commotion among the crowd. The collision of bodies made it hard for us to navigate to the terrace.

'They’re like animals,' Kayleen commented.

I gave a small smile at her remark.

'That’s because they are.'

When we finally reached the designated spot, I gave in and had another drink. Focused on filling my glass from the tap, I didn’t notice someone else joining our little circle.

'Cullbert.'

'Van Doren.'

I turned my head, frowning as I watched Cole and Kayleen exchange sharp looks.

'I didn’t know you were here. I thought you didn’t like parties.'

Kay’s lips curled into a devilish smile.

'I like parties, just not the people at them.'

Cole returned a sarcastic smile, raising his red plastic cup and taking a sip. His eyes drifted to me, his face hardening.

'The feeling is mutual,' he replied, still examining me.

Kayleen didn’t seem to notice.

'Don’t annoy me tonight, Van Doren. My patience has limits. Get out of my way before I ruin that good-boy face of yours.'

Cole seemed amused by her threat, his narrowed eyes scrutinizing the skater in front of him.

'Always so aggressive.'

'You’ve known me since we were kids; you know I’m not afraid of you.'

'Maybe your friend hasn’t given you the right warning,' he said, pointing at me with the same hand holding his cup. 'But fear might save you from me.'

My stomach clenched, realizing Cole’s words could very well be a threat to Kayleen.

Even though I knew the Hollow Faces only killed people from the Factory, I wouldn’t put it past Van Doren to harm someone just to provoke me.

'Stop being pathetic,' Cullbert growled. 'As if.'

Cole offered a faint smile, set his cup on the counter, and gave us a dismissive raise of his eyebrows before heading back to the dance floor.

'How I hate that guy,' Kayleen muttered, taking a deep swig of her drink.

I grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face me.

'Since when do you two talk?'

'You think that was a conversation?' She snorted softly. 'Unfortunately, we’re classmates in a few courses.'

I exhaled heavily, straightening my spine as if the pain of watching them talk had physically hurt me.

'You shouldn’t get involved with him.'

Her eyes narrowed, and she made a weird face.

'You’re joking, right? I’d never have anything to do with Cole. He’s an idiot. You know him.'

I knew him well enough to know his hands were stained with innocent blood, and his memories were filled with images of decapitated people.

'Just promise me.'

'Stop being so dramatic, Lia. It’s not going to happen, okay? Besides, I’m not the one who likes him.'

I looked up sharply.

'Who?'

'Penelope.'

My blood simmered, clogging my arteries.

'What do you mean? Since when?'

Kayleen shrugged.

'Just look.'

I turned my head and spotted Penelope talking to Cole, her smile so foolish it was impossible not to assume the neon lights were coming straight from her eyes.

This couldn’t be happening.

I needed to do something about it, but I didn’t know where to start. Raising suspicions was the last thing I wanted, but I’d have to push Penelope away from him as soon as possible.

'You know Cole is aggressive,' I added.

'I was too. We were kids; it’s normal,' she said, shrugging. 'He even talks nicely to her, but I know nothing will happen.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'Cole is like me. He doesn’t get involved with anyone. You don’t need to worry.'

My mind was frying with thoughts.

The romantic lives of the boys from the kidnapping were enigmatic. I’d never heard of any woman being involved with them or anything similar. Except for Asher, who loved to boast about how the orgies he participated in did more for his cardio than football practice.

The rest were eerily silent about the topic.

Was Dante the same way?

I mentally punished myself for even opening the door to such irrelevant thoughts. Who Dante slept with was none of my business. Even though the day of our promise was still vivid in my memory, neither of us was obligated to keep it when the love between us had long since died and been buried.

That promise had been a sham, just like any feelings we might have once shared.

'Do you have a cigarette?'

Kayleen’s eyebrows arched.

'Weren’t you the one who quit smoking?'

'Every day, I’m a different person,' I replied confidently, taking the pack and lighter from her hand. 'I’m going to the terrace. Be right back.'

Cullbert nodded, and I climbed the stairs to the open attic.

I hated cigarettes. I hated the smell. I hated how sick my lungs were, and yet I still poisoned them. I knew that someday I might lose part of them for clogging them with nicotine, but deep down, it was a plea for death.

Smoking gave me a slow and silent death.

When I reached the top step, I pulled out a cigarette, placed it between my lips, and lit the tip, ready for the first drag.

I stretched my limbs, inhaling lazily, hoping to embed every cursed gram of tobacco into my bronchi.

It was a rotten anesthetic but highly effective.

I hadn’t smoked in three months, but every time I returned to it, it felt like an old friend recounting the good memories we’d shared.

Stepping away from the door, my eyes were drawn to the sight of numerous tall buildings illuminated by apartment lights, the sound of honking cars and hurried traffic, and the murmured voices carried by the wind.

But I was caught off guard by the figure leaning against the railing, equally captivated by the same view.

A mix of emotions erupted in my throat before I called out his name loudly.

'Dante?'"