Absorbed (Devoured, #1.5)(12)

“Well, is it Samantha?” Kylie asks.

The slight quirk of my lips is just as sardonic as my sisters forced grin. “Do your job. Stay the f*ck out of my private business.” I turn back around just as she takes a giant, angry bite of her burger. Being Kylie, she’s got to have the last word, and I’m just about to close the house door behind me when I hear her voice.

“I won’t have a job if you keep doing this crap in private,” she yells. I choose not to respond—what the f*ck do I even say to that other than something that will hurt her feelings—and slam the door.

The trip to my bank takes surprisingly less time than usual, and as soon as I’ve sent the wire over to Sam, I call her.

Because it’s dealing with money, she picks up on the second ring. She breathes into the phone for a few seconds like a goddamn creeper, and then she says in a deflated voice, “It’s already showing up in my account.”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and sneer. “Nice to know you’re on top of shit.” I can almost picture it: Sam in her luxury apartment in Atlanta, sitting on that expensive ass white leather couch with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth—or in her case, foil and a lighter waiting nearby—as she continuously refreshes her bank account. The thought makes me a little sick to my stomach, but I ignore it. The amount I sent today seemed like pennies in comparison to what my ex usually demands.

When she’d told me the amount she expected this morning, I’d been shocked, but she quickly assured me how serious she was. “Two payments,” she said. “One now, one later this year. Then I’m done.”

“Done with what?” I had asked cautiously.

“Done with this. With you. We’ll finish it up, and I’ll just pretend like you don’t exist. Like nothing you’ve done exists.”

My stomach and chest was on fire from the guilt and humiliation and anger, but I still managed to respond. “But then who’ll pay for your rent and your bullshit?” My voice was far crueler than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. Hearing her say that she’d just pretend like the last several years didn’t exist after putting me through so much shit and blackmailing me drove me over the edge.

“I’ll pay it myself,” she’d finally said, and I resisted the urge to snort. We both knew that she’d blow that money an hour after it hit her account.

“Lucas,” her voice says hoarsely, dragging me back to the present and into my car. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for the rest.”

I swing my Audi into traffic and take a deep breath. “No doubt you will.” I'm not sure if she heard half of that, because when I call her name a moment later, she's already hung up.

As disgusted as I am with Sam, and with myself for feeding her chaos over the last four and a half years, I’m a little grateful for her as I sit in traffic. The conversation I had with her this morning—the one that pushed me over the edge—it was exactly what I had needed to finish “Ten Days.”





Chapter Nine


Lucas Wolfe





For the next two and a half weeks I bust my ass getting “Ten Days” ready to go on my solo album. It’s time-consuming, but worth it, giving me that creative high that I haven’t felt in nearly two months. Right after I record the song—and it takes me several takes to get the version that I’m most satisfied with, which is simple, acoustic—Kylie calls while I’m at a bar to let me know that Sinjin is finally being released from rehab. At first, I’m hesitant to agree to see him right away. I’m not as pissed about what happened back in Nashville between him and Sienna; I’ve had two months to cool off from all the f*cked up things he said to her when he was messed up. What I’m worried about is Sin’s reaction to seeing me.

I’ve known him since I was a kid. I know how his mind works. And I know he’s tortured over what happened. Seeing me will just add to that torment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lucas,” Kylie says impatiently when I tell her what’s on my mind. “Of course he wants to see you. Don’t be a douche friend.” Even though she’s not in front of me right now, I’m able to picture her brown eyes squinted into a frown as she runs her hands through her newly colored hair—the worst goddamn combination of red and white-blonde—in frustration.

“Stop playing band mediator.” Which is what Kylie’s been doing for a long time now. She’s been convinced since the very beginning that YTS is going to break up at any moment. Kylie makes a low noise on the other line, and I groan. “But relax, I’m going to go.” Still, I clench my fingers around the lukewarm glass as I down the rest of my beer. I signal for Luisa who quirks her lips sympathetically as she nods.

My sister sighs. “Good. So, I’ll see you tomorrow? I told Sin I’d pick him up in the afternoon so I can be at your place to get you around—”

“I’ll come get you,” I interrupt. Kylie’s little car f*cks me and my forehead over every time I get in it, she can’t drive my Jeep because it’s a stick, and I don’t trust her enough to give her the keys to my Audi yet. “See you at eleven.” Luisa slides my drink across the bar counter toward me, and I mouth a thank you. She winks at me then turns away to wipe down the counter.