Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men 6)

She didn’t hesitate to wrap me up in her arms, stamping her curves to mine. Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes as I held her, nose to her cherry-scented hair.

“Thank you for giving me this family,” I whisper-shouted into her ear. “It’s so much better than anything we ever had before.”

Loulou pulled away to smile in my face, her eyes fluorescent blue in the flashing lights. “We always had each other, though. I hope you know that would have been enough to make me happy forever.”

My throat constricted, a boa of emotion wrapped around it too tight. “Yeah, I know. But I’m glad you found this, for both you and me.”

“Yeah,” Lou agreed solemnly, tucking my damp hair behind one ear. “Love you, sunshine girl.”

It was an important détente in this little skirmish between us. I threw myself back into her arms, feeling her laughter move through me as she caught me and swung me around.

“Love you, back,” I shouted through my giggles before she put me down.

When we went back to dancing, we did it holding hands.

At some point, a tingle of awareness nestled at the base of my spine, then ran icy fingers up my hot back. I opened my eyes to half-mast, half-drunk on peach bourbon smashes and the heady bass of Bishop Briggs’ “Dead Man’s Arms”. Lazily, I swept my eyes over the crowd of churning bodies, moving over the sight of Lila in Nova’s arms with sudden excitement.

If Nova was here now, did any of the other brothers come with him?

Nova caught my eye as he hauled Lila up into his arms and minutely shook his head before devouring his woman’s eager mouth. I looked away, disappointment a bitter tang on the back of my tongue. I looked to the left to see Harleigh Rose being bent over Lion’s arm as he attacked her mouth and squeezed his big hand high on her thigh.

I closed my eyes again, my focus lost, the high of the music and my sisterhood collapsing around my feet.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I shouted at Cleo as she spun gracefully beside me.

She frowned, tossing her sweaty light brown hair out of her eyes. “I’ll come with!”

I shook my head, darting forward to kiss her sweat-damp cheek. “I just need a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”

She bit her lip but nodded hesitantly, concern in her big grey eyes.

I ignored it, pushing through the crowd toward the bathroom, suddenly feeling emotional. How was it possible that amid all this humanity, I felt so wretched with loneliness?

It was simple, really.

I was obsessed, addicted really, to one man, and I always felt off-balance without his presence nearby, even in those years before he truly noticed me. It was as if he was gravity tethering my dreamy soul to reality, grounding my romanticism in truth, casting shadow and depth to my light.

Clearly, the drink was making me maudlin.

There was a line up to the girl’s washroom, so I delved further down the hall and turned the corner, searching for the handicap option. It was tucked just beside an emergency escape, and I was grateful when I found it unoccupied.

I closed the door, flipped the lock, and braced my hands on the basin as I stared into the mirror. I didn’t wear much makeup, but my gloss was eaten off my lips, and the mascara on my lashes smeared beneath my eyes. My hair was a fluffy mess of curls around my face, giving me a girly, almost childish air when paired with my outfit.

I wasn’t the bombshell my sister was, the badass queen like Harleigh Rose, the bohemian beauty of Lila, or the elegant Disney princess that was Cressida.

I was just me.

But then I imagined Priest behind me, his stern, unsmiling mouth in that lush, dark red beard, his unruly hair pulled into a messy bun at the back of his neck, his tattooed fingers wrapped around my throat like the sexiest accessory, and I thought, maybe, me was a good thing to be.

There was a sharp judder at the door as someone tried the handle and found it locked.

“Occupied,” I called out, turning on the tap to wash my hands.

Another fierce rattle of the metal handle.

“Occupied!” I shouted again.

Silence.

I adjusted my breasts in my crop top and flashed my reflection a sunny smile I didn’t feel. How could I be so desolate with yearning when I’d just seen Priest one day ago? Was it because I’d given him my virginity? I didn’t think so. Even though I’d been raised to believe sex was meant for a husband and wife, I didn’t subscribe wholesale to every Christian belief. I believed in gay marriage, in a woman’s right to choose, and in having sex when you felt beautiful and brave enough to engage in that intimacy with someone you believed was worthy.