Four Score by Lili Saint Germain

Author:Lili Saint Germain [Saint Germain, Lili]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lili Saint Germain Publishing
Published: 2014-05-24T04:00:00+00:00

The roles reverse sharply—Jase is completely fucked, both physically and mentally. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor in hours. About an hour ago, I found a frozen pizza and shoved it into the oven, guessing it was cooked when the cheese started to bubble furiously on top. I gave it to him, and he ate it mechanically, until it was all gone. Then he resumed his listless staring into space.

Which brings us to now.

I’m lost. Up until now, I’ve always had a plan. A destination. People to fuck and people to kill. But now? I’m wandering around Jason’s apartment like a lost soul¸ wondering if I should go, or if I should stay. Finally, I decide to busy myself with cleaning up the glass from the vase and cell phone.

Three thoughts on repeat in my mind.

Dornan’s in a coma.

I just kicked Elliot out.

I think Jase hates me.

I crouch in front of Jase, who’s polished off half the bottle of vodka and all of the pizza I left for him. He’s still staring into space.

“Hey,” I say gently. “Earth to Jase? What’s going on in there?”

I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s freaking me out. Because I know I’m responsible for turning his life into a living hell. At least, today I’m responsible. Dornan brought him into hell with the rest of us the moment he killed Jase’s mother all those years ago.

He raises his watery brown eyes to meet my gaze and I have to force myself not to flinch underneath the weight of his stare. His jaw is clenched so hard I’m surprised his teeth haven’t started cracking. His fingers are curled around the neck of the vodka bottle like it’s a life raft and he’s afloat in an icy sea.

“What’s going on in here?” he echoes, tapping the side of his head. “You really don’t want to know.”

Probably not.

I kneel in front of him and rest one hand on his bended knee. “You should still tell me.”

He smirks, an expression I never want to see on his face. It makes him look like his father, which is a comparison I never, ever need to be reminded of. But he can’t help who his father is any more than I could help who my father was. Born into treachery, raised among darkness so vile, so toxic, our souls are unlike any others.

He might have escaped the first seventeen years of his life in blissful ignorance of the Gypsy Brothers’ life, but I’m pretty sure he’s all caught up and then some.

“I’m thinking about you and my father,” he says, and my heart sinks. “I’m thinking about all those times you were—” he struggles to get the next part out, “— with him, and it makes me want to kill you both.” He reaches up his spare hand and places it on my cheek. I don’t dare move, frozen to the spot, as he lets his hand trail down ever so gently to rest around my throat.

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