Savage Little Lies (Court Legacy 2)

“Well, then, maybe we should get started,” I said, his eyes only growing in width. “After all, you do have a deadline.”

“I do.” He put the sketchpad on the car. “I mean it, Sloane. I’m not going to drag your ass.”

I knew he did. I nodded, but then leaned forward. “I’m not going to drag your ass. So let’s get this going.”

He stayed in the middle of the garage when I walked around him. I got my bag out of my car, my own sketchpad and pencils in there. I was completely serious about this.

I guess he saw that when I came back with them, and nodding, he gathered his pad.

“We can sketch in the guesthouse,” he said, then led the way. This would be an interesting pairing. But considering everything with my brother and, well, everything else, it might be just what I needed. I wanted a distraction.

And all this work would definitely be it.

Chapter Twelve

Sloane

Mommy jerked me forward, my hand in hers. She tugged me so hard.

It hurt.

I cried, telling her my arm stung, but she didn’t stop.

She just kept tugging, the room a blur.

Everything but the animal.

It had big teeth, a large mouth like it’d eat me whole. It would eat me.

Mommy dragged me toward it.

“Mommy, I’m scared,” I cried, but Mommy didn’t stop tugging me. A door was beside the animal, a big door. Would the animal eat me in there?

“You have to,” Mommy said, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to go home. Why couldn’t we just go home?

I shook my head, the tears falling down my cheeks. I could taste them in my mouth like salty crackers.

“Mommy, please,” I called, but she grabbed me by my shoulder. She was taking me to the animal, the door. She wanted to take me to it.

I didn’t want to go.

Chapter Thirteen

Sloane

I had a weird dream about my mother last night, weird because I didn’t dream about my mother.

I barely remembered her.

She’d died when I was six and Bru was five, and nothing really particularly stood out about her. I mean, I loved my mother.

I just didn’t remember her.

I remembered her funeral a little, mostly because Dad hadn’t let Bru or me out of his sight the whole time. He’d made us stay with him, our hands in his. After she’d died, we hadn’t even had babysitters anymore. He’d become pretty much a recluse after that, outside of his job. It was like he’d been scared he’d lose us too, always scared.

The moving around had started shortly after that, going from school to school and town to town. We’d never stayed anywhere for longer than a year, and Dad had constantly had new jobs in the midst of it. He hadn’t been able to hold on to one for longer than a year.

Hence the moves.