In Silence She Screams (Midnight Mayhem 3)

I reach for my vibrating phone on the glass coffee table, answering when I see Saskia’s name flashing across the screen.

“You can talk with a commoner now?” It was a joke, but it’s also true. I’m an outsider; I don’t actually belong here. Midnight Mayhem is extremely selective of who they allow in—to the point of it being a blood in and blood out type setting. So how did I get here?

“Har har. We’re on our way there!”

I run my fingers through my hair to brush it all to one side. “Who are we? And good. I’m awfully bored.” I pick at the fuzz on my thigh-high socks. Even though it’s freezing outside, the temperature in this house stays the same, so I’m wearing tight black yoga shorts that hardly cover my ass cheeks, and Kyrin’s oversized Cherry Skulls Philipp Plein hoodie. I’m punishing him by wearing a thousand-dollar hoodie around the house like I would a ten-dollar rag from Walmart.

“Me, Perse, Maya, Rose, and Cartier—Kyrin’s little Gollum.”

“Let me guess, you’re bringing alcohol.”

“Yes, but don’t worry, we’re making cocktails! See you in a bit.” I can’t think of anything worse than alcohol, other than cocktails. The sugary substance was something I was never allowed back at the Dollhouse. Never. For one, alcohol aged you, and two—sugar.

Eli’s walking down the stairs, shirtless, while running a towel through his damp hair, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants. “What’s wrong?”

Eli. Fucking Eli. “There are a whole lot of girls that are about to be here, so you’re free to hide upstairs.”

He scoffs. “Fuck no. I fucking love women.” My eyes narrow, but I quickly wipe the—cough—jealousy off my face before he can see it. “And Kyrin is on his way back now, too, so I won’t be the only male here.” Nope. The stirring in my gut is back. What the fuck are you doing, Lilith? The front door opens just as Eli buries himself in the pantry, pulling out weird foods.

“This is my favorite place,” Sass announces as she waltzes into the sitting room with her horde of females behind her. They all spread out around the large sofa until my eyes land on a girl I haven’t met yet.

She nudges her head. “Hey, I’m Cartier.”

I tilt my head, hiding a smile. “Kyrin’s baby sister.”

She clicks her fingers, moving to the coffee table in front of us and pulling open a drawer.

“That’s the one, though I don’t usually use that as an opening line. It’s ineffective when it comes to, you know, getting guys.” She starts pulling out utensils from the drawer, and then glasses. I realize quickly they’re cocktail ingredients. She flashes a metal shaker. “My mom is a professional mixologist, but like, the one that drinks everything she makes. She had this put in especially for girls’ nights and all that shit.”

Cartier has teal hair that sits around the same length as mine, tanned skin, and eyes the color of the ocean—almost the same as her hair. Tattoos are inked all over her skin, from two sleeves, both gray wash, and other smaller bits over her chest and neck. She has a septum piercing, and her makeup—dang—her makeup looks professionally done. She is clearly Kyrin’s sister. High cheekbones, lips that flick a little over the edge, and flawless skin with a few scattered beauty spots. That’s where their similarity ends. Her personality seems the complete opposite.

“I don’t think Lilith has ever had a cocktail…” Perse adds, crossing her legs in front of herself on the sofa. She stares right at me, and I raise an eyebrow at her. What is this girl’s problem with me? “Right?”

Everyone goes silent, aside from Cartier, who is busying herself with mixing. I curl my fingers over the edge of Kyrin’s sleeves.

“Correct.” I smirk at Perse, which only makes her angry face distort further, before looking back to Cartier. “I’m from Patience.”

Cartier pauses, her eyes flying up to mine. A look of understanding passes over her features, and whether that’s understanding on why Perse doesn’t like me, or why I’m weird, I don’t know yet.

“Well, hang on, that’s only half the truth. I’m also from the Dollhouse. The lead, actually, with my father being the CEO of” —I wave my hands in the air—“whatever he was.”

“Why are you here then?” Cartier asks, but it’s not hostile, more confusion. She starts shaking the cocktail mixer, but her eyes stay on mine. When she stops to strain the liquid into the line of glasses, I answer her.

“Don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer I’ve ever given.

She shrugs, handing me a glass and clinking mine with hers. “Here’s to your first.”

I take a sip and feel the sugar slide down my throat. It’s sickly, but surprisingly good. They say sugar is the first drug we ever taste. Crystalized, powdered, candy, refined. And right now, I feel like I have tasted it for the first time.