Soulless (Starcrossed Lovers Trilogy 2)

People were speculating on every station, talking about sicko freaks in the world who may have beaten security to grab me. That’s when it was getting crazy. There were random people talking about how they’d seen me places – dingy nightclubs alongside Tristan. Fuck. Maybe they might start talking about Lucian being in those places too . . . or Terence Kingsley. If only they began to focus on Terence Kingsley . . .

It seemed the Power Brothers were the last thing on people’s minds. Not a surprise. People rarely mentioned the Power Brothers, they just weren’t of the same social presence as us Constantines or the Morelli assholes on the other side of the Bishop’s Landing brigade. People had even less of an idea just what corruption was going on with all of us behind the scenes, by a long, long way.

I almost enjoyed sitting on the couch in Lucian’s shirt watching my drama unfold on the screen. It was bizarrely exciting somehow, feeling so important to the world outside.

Tinsley was on there, crying appeals for anyone to give information. No doubt Mom had drafted her in to play social goodness after such a terrible crime.

It was all a load of fake bullshit for the press, pretending the criminal was unknown. In the Constantine universe it was undoubtedly the Power Brothers who’d taken me. They’d have figured that regardless, but not to the same extent as they would have done once they’d barged into my room that night and looked for the answers. More fool me for cementing the fact that the Power Brothers had taken me. I’d been a stupid little bitch to even think it. I was embarrassed to hell at the thought Lucian would find out about that . . . about the note . . . the note I’d . . . I’d scribbled . . .

Fuck.

I stepped away from the TV as I made myself a coffee and soup, feeling more at home in that cruddy space than I ever felt in my own apartment. I wished in some ways that Lucian would just bail out on me for good and leave me to enjoy my life here without everyone around me. Hell, I was almost wishing I could stay alive, despite the constant regular shit of wanting my days to end I’d been carrying around with me for years.

But no.

NO.

Lucian Morelli wasn’t going to keep me alive. Any silly notions I had of that needed trashing before I started taking a liking to them. I wasn’t going to take a liking to them.

I wanted to die, just like always.

I wanted to breathe my last breath and leave the whole world of Elaine Constantine behind.

I was shaking from lack of both coke and alcohol enough to search through every square inch of the place that morning, but there was nothing. Of course there wouldn’t be – not with Lucian damn Morelli being the biggest substance prude on the planet. The fridge was mineral water city and nothing else.

It was a clue as to just how fucked up my head was when I started looking at the clock, wondering when Lucian would be back, if at all. That little freak of a girl in me was almost hoping he would come back soon and shove more than his fingers down her throat. That little freak of a girl needed to hurt. Needed her damn punishment. That little freak of a girl was too messed up for reason. Urgh, I hoped he’d never come back. Of course I did, he was a Morelli. A fucking Morelli monster.

Lunchtime came and went slowly, and even the TV stations stopped holding my interest. Hearing about what a lovely girl I was on screen was a joke when I’d been hearing what a bad one I was for decades. Fuck you all. I switched it off with a curse, and then I sat there, bored.

I showered, but still I was bored. I ate another crappy can of soup, and still I was bored.

I tried again and watched another load of random speakers speculating where I was on the TV, and still I was bored.

That’s when the boredom turned, just like it always did. Boredom turned into mind-wandering memories, and they turned dark quickly without alcohol or coke for the pain. Memories that chewed me up inside.

I could feel them brewing, just like always. Feel them reaching out at me from the pits of my own fucked-up soul, just like always.

I heard them, felt them, feared them.

No, please. I’ll be a good girl. I promise I’ll be a good girl!

Don’t touch me again. Please, don’t touch me like that. Don’t make it hurt!

It hurts, Uncle Lionel, please don’t let them in tonight. Please!

My desperate sense of desire drove me back to the kitchen, fuck the TV. I opened the drawer with trembling fingers, knowing what was coming, knowing what I needed, knowing what I always needed.