Page 60 of The Killer Card

“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah I know.” Clearing my throat I shrug. “He made me do a lot of stuff I didn’t like. I was just a kid, and I was learning the truth about what had happened to my mom and dad, and my head was just a mess. He didn’t treat me well.”

“Working for him got you in trouble a lot.” I frown down at her. “I know you’ve been arrested before, Graham. Knowing this about your childhood gives it a lot more context.”

Biting my lip, I look down at the glide of my fingers up and down her arm. "How many times?" She asks, also watching the goosebumps her touch elicits.

"Six,” I mutter, the same shame bubbling up that always does when I tell people I’m technically a criminal. Elias is quite literally the only person on Earth who would hire me at this point.

"What did you do?"

Leaning my head back, I start counting in my head. “I stole a car when I was fifteen. I mean, it was mine, I took it back, but the repo guy didn’t agree.”

“You’re an idiot—”

“I was a child—”

“You’re still an idiot—”

“Anyway,” I growl into her hair. “A week later I was arrested for driving without a license. Because I was fifteen.”

Naomi, however deems me an “Idiot.” Anyway.

Counting on my fingers I finish off with, “Arrested for selling narcotics. Then there was public intoxication and urination- I know, I’m an idiot—” I tell her disgusted face. “And then there was that time my dealer ratted me out for breaking into his apartment. I didn’t steal anything, but I should have. He was a piece of shit—"

"That was only five, Graham,” she states pointedly, as if I can’t count. I may not have had new shoes, but I had the finest education money could buy until I was eighteen and… Well, “What was the sixth?"

When I don’t answer, her body grows rigid, until she finally pulls away from me. I refuse to meet her accusatory glare as she asks again, “What was the sixth, Graham?”

When I still don’t answer, she scoffs, standing with the sheet wrapped around her, pinned by a hand at her hip. I follow the folds until I meet her angry- slightly scared- glacial eyes.

“I’m only going to ask you this one time,” she says carefully, enunciating every word. I realize she’s not looking at me at all, but at a point near my shoulder, as if she’s unable to put this question to a face she was sitting on only an hour ago. “Have you, Graham Rosales, ever killed anyone?”

Instead of answering her, I bow my head and that alone is answer enough. Yes I have and I don’t regret it.

The sheet billows to the floor and I listen as Naomi gathers her scattered clothes, not even putting on her heels before the top lock of the door clicks open. I flinch when the door slams shut behind her, burying my face in my hands with a groan.

Deep down I always knew this would end one way or another, I just didn’t think it would end like this. I didn’t think it would end with her being afraid of me. God, she could hate me, think nothing of me, love me if my fucking dreams come true. But the last thing I ever want is for her to fear me.

You should have explained, idiota. You should have told her the whole story. If she knew she would think differently!

Dropping back onto the bed with a thud, I mumble under my breath the one phrase that has never failed to find a way out of my mouth, “К чёрту всё.”

23 Years Ago

Chapter Nineteen

Graham

I fucking hate this house.

I hate the smell of the incense in every hall. I hate the way my sneakers squeak against the marble floors. I hate the way every hall appears to have a dead-end. No options. No escapes.

You’d think after twelve years I’d be used to it, that I could leave my room without checking both ways, that loud noises would no longer make me flinch. The truth is that I have gotten used to it, those are actually just my good instincts at work. I’ve learned quite well how to go about my life unheard. I know the right times to be seen, and I know the right times to disappear. I’m a phantom in these halls, a wraith. The Domovoy, I’ve taken to calling myself after grandfather’s guards started to curse whatever entity was stealing their cigarettes and spare change. The maid, on the other hand, coos the name into the shadows when she leaves me snacks for the night.

“Growing boys need to eat,” she always says.

I very much agree.

Kira loves me- she’s the only one in this house who does- even though I force her to lie to the guards on a regular basis. But she doesn’t like them, says they’re brutes, garbage men, and screams at them when they track footprints into her kitchen. The way she screams at them- her bright eyes gleaming and her ebony cheeks reddening- as she wags a finger in their stupid faces is one of the best shows I ever get to witness since I’m not actually allowed to use the TV or go to the theatre like Sonya. All the entertainment available to me is within this house, which more often than not leads to trouble—