Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(83)

Lucy.

Samantha.

Ryker.

Me.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Ryker

“That’s the best butterfly of all butterflies I’ve ever seen drawn before,” I say about the asymmetrical multicolored butterfly on the construction paper in front of me.

“Auntie likes when I draw pictures of myself,” Lucy says, her smile wide, her eyes so alive and full of life. “She says I capture my spirit, whatever that means.” She rolls her eyes and then bats her lashes as well as any teenage girl can.

“It means when you look at the photo, it makes you feel just as good as being with you and hearing your laugh does.”

“So pretty good then, right?” She fills in some more purple on the wings. “That’s who I am, Lucy-Loo, the feel-good girl.”

I throw back my head and laugh and draw the looks of others in the art room of the facility. With a smile their way, I study my surroundings. Light-blue walls are coated in layers of art—some scribbles, others exceptional—with the large windows letting light into the room. If you look closer, you can see the wear and tear—scuffed baseboards, cracked chairs, uneven tables—but the staff’s smiles are all bright and their voices cheerful.

Still . . . this is no place for any of these kids.

My chest constricts at the thought. My home wasn’t one full of cuddles and kisses—unless we’re talking about my nanny—but this isn’t a home. This is a facility where people are paid to take care of and love children.

“Mr. Ryker?”

“Hmm?” I turn my attention back to the reason I’m here. Bright-blue eyes, a crooked princess crown, and a barely there temporary tattoo on the inside of her wrist from our royal festival over two weeks ago.

“Why do you look so sad all of a sudden?”

My smile is instantaneous. “No reason,” I lie.

“You can’t fool me.” She reaches out and pats my hand, so very wise beyond her years. “I get sad sometimes too.”

“You do?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She sniffs, and it breaks my heart. “When I miss my mommy. When I miss my auntie. When I want to sleep in the princess bed and wake up to chocolate chip pancakes that Auntie Vee makes. When I can’t watch one of my movies because it’s lights-out time.” She twists her mouth to combat the quivering of her bottom lip.

“What about your dad? Do you miss your dad?” I can’t help myself from asking something I have no business knowing.

She shrugs and averts her eyes. “Sometimes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s always lots of people in his house. Lots of loud music and noise and them acting like I do when I have way too much sugar and Auntie has to tell me no more. It hurts my eyes and ears so much that sometimes I just put a pillow over my head and sit in the bedroom with the door shut.”

Jesus Christ. And the system can’t see this? A goddamn drug den is no place to raise a little girl. Not Lucy. Not anyone.

I grit my teeth and force my voice to remain calm and even despite the anger that roils around inside me. “I think that’s a good plan. To stay in your room. Maybe even draw more pictures. Adults who have too much sugar are not a good thing.”

“Mmm.” She adds antennae on her butterfly, and I draw a yellow sun in the corner. “What do you do when you’re sad, Mr. Ryker?”

“Me?” I set the yellow crayon down and pick up an orange one to add rays to the sun. “Sometimes I go for a run or I work longer.”

“You don’t see Auntie Vee? She always makes me feel better when I’m sad.”

“She does, does she?” I ask to avoid answering the question, because right now she’s part of the reason I’m sad.

She canceled last night without warning.

She isn’t answering her phone at all.

I thought we’d turned a corner when she admitted she needed me . . . now I’m not so sure.

Hell, she isn’t even answering her door today, for that matter. At least she croaked out that she was sick as a dog from behind it or else I would have been breaking down the damn thing to make sure she was all right.

“Yes. She always makes me feel better. You should try it. All you have to do is tell her you’re sad.”

“Thank you.” For some reason I have a hard time getting those two words out. Emotion I don’t want to acknowledge clogs my throat.

“Either that or I can let you borrow my special necklace. Sometimes when I rub it, it makes me feel better.”

“Your special necklace? Does it have magical powers?” I ask, full well knowing I had planned on asking her about it.

“Just love.” She shrugs, her smile widening as she pulls a chain out from under the neck of her T-shirt. It’s the key she wears—a simple silver beaded chain with a tarnished key hanging from it. She surprises me when she takes it off over her head and holds it out to me.

“That’s beautiful. I can see the love on it.” I smile, expecting her to put it back on, but she just pushes it toward me.

“You take it.”

“Me?” I startle out a laugh. “I can’t take that.”

“You can borrow it. When you’re not sad anymore, then you can give it back to me.”