Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(67)

She smiled. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The thought might’ve disappeared from her face, but it lingered in her eyes. “What is it?”

She dropped her gaze to the phone again. “It’s nothing … silly really.”

“Nothing you want or need is silly, Buttercup. Tell me and I’ll make sure you get it—whatever it is.”

She sighed. Gathering her hair into a twist, she draped it over her shoulder. The stalling didn’t calm my nerves, but I let her decide when to tell me.

“I miss her,” she suddenly blurted.

“Miss who?”

“Corrine.”

When I stared blankly, her lips quirked. “My foster sister. I didn’t even say goodbye to her properly when I came here. Rubix’s letter sort of wrenched me from my simple world and didn’t give me time to decide if I should cut ties or just treat it as a vacation.”

Without a word, I placed the phone on the table and nudged it toward her. “Call her.”

Her eyes popped wide. “Really?” She looked at me with such gratefulness, such love, that a f*cking sledgehammer mangled my heart. Is that how she thought of me? That she was still my captive? Cut off from the people who’d taken her in and kept her safe when I couldn’t?

Taking her hand, I grabbed the phone and placed it into her palm. Curling her fingers over the device, I smiled. “Call her. I’ll be outside with the others.” I kissed the tip of her nose. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be waiting.”

With one last kiss, I left.





Chapter Nineteen


Cleo


Arthur said he wasn’t a romantic.

I told him he was a liar.

Last week, I’d found daisies stuffed into my sneakers when I went to put them on. They’d been where they always were—haphazardly kicked off and abandoned on the porch, but they’d transformed from shoes to vases.

Yesterday, I’d found a little note stuck in my window frame. It was soggy and smeared from the recent rain shower but I could still make out his neat penmanship. All it’d said was, “As You Wish,” but being that it meant “I love you” from my favorite movie … my heart almost burst.

And tonight, he’d given me a ring. A mood ring with a Sagittarius archer guarding the stone. It was a gimmick. A child’s toy. But to me it was so much more. —Cleo, diary entry, age fourteen



“Hello?” a sleepy voice crackled in my ear.

The moment Corrine’s feminine, flirty tone came through the phone, I wanted to laugh, cry, and spew out every single wondrous and horrendous thing that’d happened since we’d last been together.

So much to say.

So much I couldn’t say.

I’d stared at the phone for minutes before deciding to call her. Arthur didn’t know the gift he gave when he left.

He’s so good to me.

“Corrine.”

A shocked pause, followed by a squeal. “Sarah?”

The name felt wrong—like a pair of shoes I’d been trying to wear in but never could. Sarah pinched and confined, whereas Cleo was comfort and home. No, wrong name. “Yes, it’s me.”

Rustling filled the line before a short curse was uttered. “Shit, what time is it there?”

I slapped my forehead. Of course, time zones. “Crap, I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? It’s only early evening here.”

“You did, but only ’cause I pulled an all-nighter last night with a kitty who wasn’t doing so well giving birth. I crashed when I came home.”

Instantly, my mind filled with sterile surfaces of the veterinary clinic we both worked at. The stench of antiseptic and wicked glint of scalpels. My heart warmed to think of the timid licks from animals thanking us for saving their lives, or the terrified yips of those who didn’t understand we were on their side and not to be feared.

I missed that vocation. I missed the rush of cheating disease. I even missed the crazy owners who provided endless entertainment.

“How many?”

“Eight babies, can you believe. Poor thing didn’t make it, but we did manage to save six of the kittens, so it wasn’t as tragic as it could’ve been.”

I looked at a chair, debating if I should sit or pace. The amount of nervous energy sparking through me preferred to walk.

Patrolling around the room, I asked, “How are you? Did you find the rent money I left for my share of the studio?”

Corrine snorted. “I found it, but I didn’t use it. This place was too small for the two of us anyway. I can more than cover it.” Her tone was reserved but warmed. “Plus, Nick has been staying over a lot, so in a way, you did me a favor.”

I smiled. “I’m glad things are working out with you two.”

“What about you, hairball? Did you find that guy who wrote you the letter?”

My old nickname—earned from being vomited on by a cat with a wicked case of undigested hair—made me laugh. The happiness didn’t last, however, as my thoughts turned instantly to Rubix and what’d happened at his hands. “I found him,” I hedged.

“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good. You okay? Need me to call Scotland Yard or MI6? How about James Bond?”

I giggled. “No, I’m safe. It was just a bit scary to begin with.”