Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(2)

Not that I’m supposed to know any of that. Boyd likes to pretend the security firm he’s an engineer at is totally legitimate, but I’ve done my homework. And I know that no one in little King’s Trace, Maine, lives outside the scope of organized crime.

He doesn’t answer my question. “I can stay another night, you know. I’ll push back my meeting, tell the company to wait until Monday for me to return.”

My eyes flicker to the massive window across from us, sweeping over bustling Fifth Avenue twenty stories below. The sun’s beginning to set just beyond the Empire State Building, a blanket of pastel orange and pink covering the sky as the city makes way for darkness.

A shiver skates across my skin, goose bumps sprouting along the surface as I think about navigating New York on my own.

Well, kind of on my own. Technically, this is a class trip, so I’m rooming with two girls—Aurora Jackson and Mellie Simmons. Boyd wasn’t supposed to be here at all, but no one says no to your requests when you have enough money to silence them.

“You can’t keep putting off work to stay here,” I say finally, dragging my gaze away from the glass. “We both know that place doesn’t function well when you’re gone.”

“I haven’t taken a vacation in a decade. They owe me.”

“Right, and we agreed you’d stay here three days, and then go home tonight.”

“No, I said I’d stay as long as I felt you needed me to.” His hazel eyes jump to mine in the mirror. “I’ve spent the last three days watching you fold into yourself, so forgive me for not exactly being confident that you’re able to handle this.”

His words sting. A little pinprick reminder that I’m not as good an actress as I think.

My fingers curl into fists, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms and burrowing until the physical pain replaces the ache in my bones. I suck in a deep breath and pull my feet up on the bed, the black polish on my toenails contrasting with the white comforter beneath.

“How will we ever know I’m ready if you don’t let me try?”

Boyd grips the edge of the counter, watching as I yank on a pair of socks. “What if I let you, and something happens?”

“Like what, someone attacks me? Been there, done that, have the ECG report with a lapse in activity to prove it.” The joke tumbles from my lips before I have a chance to swallow it down.

My gut thrashes, matching the intensity in my brother’s eyes.

He doesn’t say anything.

He never does.

I exhale, my tongue thick as it sticks to the roof of my mouth. “I’m just saying, I could get hurt anywhere. You can’t guarantee my safety in New York City any more than you can King’s Trace, so what’s the point of you staying?”

Turning, he leans against the sink, cocking an eyebrow. “You don’t think you’re any safer with me than you are alone?”

“But I’m not even going to be alone. I have roomies, remember?”

Scoffing, Boyd looks out the door to the empty hallway of our suite. “Right. Because they’ve been great companions so far.”

He’s not wrong; even though school guidelines require roommates to stick together during group outings, Aurora and Mellie have been content to leave me every chance they’ve gotten. Although, I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I refuse to engage in polite conversation with the two overly enthusiastic girls.

Or maybe it’s because I’m still the awkward new girl from the “wrong side of town” where my classmates are concerned. You can take the girl out of the trailer and stuff a bunch of money into her bank account, but that doesn’t mean your peers will stop seeing you as trash.

I shouldn’t care what they think, I know. But my freedom hinges on their willingness to attend things with me. Boyd would never leave me here otherwise.

“It’s one night,” I say, leaning back and spreading my fingers out on the mattress. “If something goes wrong while you’re gone, then you never have to let me out of your sight again.”

He stares at me in silence for a long time, roving over my face as if trying to commit it to memory. I fidget, the fear that he’ll say no palpable as it notches down my spine, making me sit up straight.

I attempt a smile, kicking out my legs and crossing one over the other. Prim and proper, the picture of ease in my oversized Grateful Dead hoodie and fuzzy purple socks.

Maybe if I at least try to pretend I’m not nervous, he’ll believe it.

Perception is reality, or whatever bullshit his girlfriend Fiona is always spewing.

Finally, when it feels like I might die under his perusal, my brother heaves a leaden breath, pushing off the counter as he comes back into the room. He lifts his arm, the sleeve falling back slightly, and checks the massive Rolex strapped to his wrist.

“Phone calls every hour, on the hour until you’re in bed for the night.” He drops his hand, pointing a long finger at me. “If I don’t hear from you, I’m on the first flight back here. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that no matter where you’re at, I’ll find you.”

Excitement bubbles up in my chest, and I leap off the bed, skipping over to wrap him in a hug. My forehead barely touches his collarbone, his muscles tensing as my arms encircle his waist.

One of his hands comes down, resting between my shoulder blades; a whisper of a touch, the way you handle something fragile that’s been broken before. As though the fractures haven’t fully healed, and you’re afraid that any pressure might split them wide open again.