Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(14)

Neither of them seem overly concerned with helping me solve that puzzle, too wrapped up in arguing about things that likely don’t even really pertain to me. All arguments devolve into old, unresolved arguments when there’s too much bitter history between people.

That’s one thing my mother stressed for reasons that now seem to make more sense.

I turn and walk out, and neither of them even notice. The rug under all the shattered glass quickly flips as the threads dance around me, scattering the glass away to clear a semi-safe path for me to walk.

I need to get back to Anna to see if we’ve found a temporary or permanent fix to the sickness. Hope dares to flutter as I hurry down the stairs and by Margie.

My moment of feeling like a normal woman is now as shattered as all the fragments of glass I’ve had to avoid.

I don’t hesitate to open the door on Damien’s pearl Range Rover, and since the keys are in it, I decide to drive it, considering Anna opted to walk, apparently. Though how she managed to walk here in those heels is beyond me.

No one stops me from stealing Damien’s vehicle. Most of the men moving things into the home don’t even bat an eye at the toga I wore when I streaked by.

Trying not to let Damien ruin this day the way Vance said he was, I hurry home, park, and leave the keys in the ignition. Then I dart in and lock the door.

As I start checking to make sure all the windows are also locked, I call out to Anna.

“I don’t know if I love you or hate you for that, so we’ll stick with my usual answer: I hate you so hard right now.”

I hurry to the next window, checking them all in sequence to ensure Damien doesn’t get to slip in again without sounding an alarm. I find a few I know should be locked but aren’t, and I remedy that, while continuing to call for Anna.

“How are you feeling? Still lucid? Any hallucinations—”

I stop short, and my heart starts pounding in my chest when I see a pile of salt in front of my fireplace. My knees slam hard against the floor, signaling I’ve dropped, as I stare blankly at it.

The lump in my throat doubled in size and then tripled, as the first tear slides down my cheek. My lungs almost feel to be stuck in a vacuum, as my gaze slides over a red envelope with my name on it.

With numb movements, I manage to move close enough to lift the envelope that I struggle to open with my shaky hands. The second I manage to pull out the letter concealed inside, I feel the tears water before the words start to blur.



Secretive Violet,



I’ll regret never earning all your secrets before I had to go. Hopefully, if all goes according to plan, you’ll have had a sensational night, and someone will be there with you to cushion this blow. Because more than anything, I don’t want to feel as though I’ve left you alone.



I stop reading to angrily bat away the tears. I was gullible enough to believe in miracles, and I stayed with Vance while she died alone, too prideful to let me be here with her. No matter if it’s the one thing I asked her for in return.

I needed this closure, and she left me with a cheap goodbye letter instead. My mother did the same thing in the form of a legal will.

“Damn you,” I say on a huff as I stand, gathering my breath and shaking my head as I continue to read on.



You’re likely very angry with me, and I don’t blame you. You never really asked me for anything at all but this. However, you don’t need to suffer to feel closure. You just need to hear the truth. I wish I could give you that, but we both know I can’t.

Unfortunately, the big bad Van Helsing will have to serve as a consolation prize.



I roll my eyes, grinding my jaw as I glance over the next words.



“We so had a three-way. I say this with confidence because we both know you like sex just as much as any other woman. But like all your anger, you bottle it up and give people what they need instead of taking what you want.

If you’re really a vampire-slaying, undying, threading savant, then it doesn’t even matter that you’re horrible at fashion. You’re still possibly the most incredibly interesting person I’ve ever known. I hate you for that, because it makes me envy you.

I’ve only ever envied one other woman, and I hated her unreasonably. But you…I hate you in the best possible way, because I’ve never wanted to be anyone so much in all my life. And you’ve given me a day.

It’s a gift I can never possibly repay, so instead, I hope you take a minute to do things just for you. No matter the consequences. No matter the cost. Do things just because it makes you happy, and to hell with everyone else for just a minute.

Then maybe, just perhaps, I can feel like I’ve given you the only thing I had that was better than you. Because you’re a soft bitch like that, just so you know.

Deuces, my favorite-ever person.

Hate you always and forever,

Anna.



PS—when in doubt, ask “What would Anna do?”



I crumple the paper in my hand as I struggle to catch my breath and swallow back the emotion. I pull it back to throw it in the fire, and change directions at the last second, hitting the wall with it instead, as I hiccup out a sob.

Whispering to nothing, I laugh a little bitterly as I let my head thump back against the wall, sitting on the floor. “I hate you too.”