Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(58)

“My ma.” He presses his lips together. “I know we came out here to be safe, and this whole thing…I’m trying not to think about it. Serial killers and shit. But we can’t hide forever, right?”

I stare out across the water. Black birds, thick-bodied and dark of beak, dart about in front of us in search of scraps, cawing to each other. “No. We can’t.”

“There’s been some crazy stuff over the years, but this kinda takes the cake. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Literally. It messes with my head, like…ah. We could be here a real long time. I could invent my own freaking dragon theory.”

I nod. “I haven’t checked my email in two days. I don’t know whether to be horrified or proud.”

The hoarse rush of the tide fills our silence, springing up on to the sand just feet from where we sit. Even the sea smells clean here—barely salty, just sweet and warm. We’re surrounded by islands, some big enough to see in their entirety, and some just pin-pricks in the distance. Paradise. Isolation. Another one of Aeron’s beautiful cages…only this time, he got in with us.

“Ethan!” Ash comes scrambling toward us. “I got, like, seventeen crabs. And loads of shells. Can we build Crab Town now?”

He backs up on the sun lounger. “Whoa there. I never agreed to that, buddy.”

“You did!”

“I said it was a cool idea. But the claws, and the clippy…and the clip clip…” Ethan makes a claw out of his hand and snips away erroneously. “You’re on your own.”

I shuffle forward so I’m eye-level with Ash. “Are they just the teeny crabs?”

“Yeah. Like Ethan told me.” He looks so hopeful it’s almost sad.

“I reckon I can brave the small ones. Want me to help?”

“Well…alrighty,” he says, unsure.

“And Ethan can help with the shells, yeah? If we do the crabs.”

“Ethan will definitely only touch shells,” he says, his tone split between horror and amusement. “Come on then, Ash. Lead the way.”

We find a spot beneath one of the thatched sun shelters, and Ethan assumes his role as chief sandcastle builder like a seasoned pro. I do my best to feign enthusiasm for the little white creatures; they’re light and spidery and barely the size of a nickel, but Jesus, they can scuttle fast. Ash scoops them out of a bucket with small, sticky hands, passing them to me with shrieks of fascinated glee.

You going to sail off into the sunset and have lots of little killer babies? Is that what you want?

“Leo, look…they like the shell fort, they’re all dancing by it! Ethan, make another! Do another moat!”

“Hang in there a sec…you need more sun lotion or your uncle’s gonna ki—he won’t be happy.”

You think there’s any way to take the poison out of a man who kills his own mother? No. It rots everything. It started way before he was born, and it will end way after him when it seeps into that little boy of his.

Ethan squeezes the sun lotion bottle too hard and it explodes across his belly, showering the crabs and their sand world in a fine mist of cream. Ash dissolves into giggles, far too low for his age and far too cute. Almost knowing.

Then it’ll get its teeth into you. It never stops.

“Come here,” I murmur, scooping lotion from his lanky thigh and spreading it across his cheeks.

He shoots me a lop-sided grin, and then continues to laugh at Ethan. I don’t remember the last time I saw this kind of happiness, and I want to wallow in it. Soak it all in.

It never stops.

“Leo?” Ash blinks at me with his huge, molten brown eyes. “Have you got any babies?”

“Who, me? Nope.”

Aeron views marriage and parenthood as PR opportunities, rather than goals—not exactly the type of man I’d envisioned having a family with. It’s never been a topic of discussion for us; it’s the kind of thing that happens to other couples. Other girls. Girls who aren’t chopped up to feed the desires of a self-confessed sociopath. I’m bound to him, and he gives me so many things; I try not to think about the things we can never have.

“You should probably have some soon,” Ash says matter-of-factly as he hands Ethan three shiny blue shells. “’Cause when girls get really, really old, their tummies don’t work anymore and they can’t pop out babies.”

Ethan sighs incredulously. “Ash. It’s not your business.”

“But what about if she gets really old?”

“I probably should do it before I get really old,” I agree, although I don’t quite achieve the intended humor. “I’m already creaking.”

Ash frowns. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Starts around the time you’re twenty-one, and then it’s all downhill from there.”

“You realize he’s taking you seriously,” Ethan pipes up.

“You’re talking about me,” Ash complains, glaring between the two of us. “I don’t like it. I’m right here!”

“I’m sorry.” I ruffle his hair experimentally; he leans in to the touch, his lower lip jutting in pleasure. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Can we do more crabs now?”

“I…” I catch Ethan’s eye; he’s shaking his head, trying not to laugh. “Sure. More crabs, coming up.”