The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

“Okay, so…at the coronation of Nicholas II, there was a big banquet held in a field for the citizens. But five hundred thousand showed up—more than anyone planned. A rumor went around that the beer and souvenirs were going to dry up which started a stampede. Fourteen hundred people were killed.”

“Holy shit…” Shiloh breathed.

“Yeah. And the fucked-up thing was, Nicholas knew about it. As he rode in, he saw wagons of the dead being carted out. But he went on with the celebration anyway. Making speeches. Business as usual.”

“Sounds awful. What made you want to write about that?”

“Because it set the tone for the Revolution,” I said. “Really terrible shit happens to regular people, and the ones who’re supposed to be watching out for them, don’t.”

Shiloh was staring at me as if she were seeing something that hadn’t been there before. Then she blinked and looked away. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about, paper-wise. Not sure how I can help.”

“I checked out some books from the library, but I’m still really fucking far behind. You might have notes for a better topic.”

“I don’t think you need a better topic. I think it’s perfect.”

I looked down at her and she looked up at me, her features soft and unguarded for a split second, then she faced forward again. Drawing close and retreating, like a tide.

We walked in silence for another minute or so, then Shiloh stopped at an empty storefront that used to be a tiny laundromat. The place was cleaned out, paint peeling off the walls, and two small front windows were plastered with GOING OUT OF BUSINESS signs.

“This one,” Shiloh murmured, almost to herself. “Perfect location. Perfect square footage. Perfect everything.”

“For your own shop.”

She nodded and heaved a breath. “My own shop… I can feel the weight of the responsibility just saying the words. Excitement too, though maybe that’s just anxiety and self-doubt in disguise.”

I glanced down at the intricate ring on her finger, easily imagining it on a display in her shop.

“How did you get into jewelry-making?”

“When I was about ten years old, Bibi showed me how to make trees by twisting copper wires into a trunk, then branching them out and hanging little plastic gems off of them for leaves.”

“Yeah, there’re a few in your living room. You made those?”

She nodded. “I was obsessed. Bibi thought it’d pass the time for a few afternoons, but I wanted to make more and more—trees with green leaves, with gold and orange leaves for autumn, pink and white for cherry blossoms. A whole forest of them.”

I nodded, thinking of those trees differently now, knowing that Shiloh made them.

“I loved making something beautiful, but I didn’t like that they just sat in a case. I started wrapping coils of copper around my fingers and wrists, adding the little gems, and that was it. As I got older, my designs became more difficult and required real work and tools. Bibi wasn’t too keen on the soldering iron or the hand torch at first, but she trusted and supported me every step of the way. This is now her dream too.”

Shiloh turned her gaze on the empty laundromat, populating it in her mind with displays of her art. I’d never seen anything as beautiful as that girl in that moment, drenched in twilight, her future in her eyes.

And my fight with Dowd had slowed everything down.

“Sorry I missed so much work.”

“I don’t care about that. I care more that you got hurt.” She glanced up at me, her eyes soft. “I mean…of course, that’s more important.”

In that moment, the tide of her attention and warmth flowed in as she looked up at me, her face open, her lips parted. The air thickened and my heart was a hammer in my chest. My eyes roamed but kept coming back to her mouth. Fuck, her mouth was perfect—round and ripe like fruit I wanted to bite and suck.

Shiloh held still, as if she were waiting. Her pulse jumped in the hollow of her throat. I felt myself draw in to her, her small, lithe body dwarfed by mine. Then my shadow fell over her. I caught our reflection in the glass of the shop she wanted. Me in black, tattooed and bruised, and her glinting gold…

She is beauty. I’m everything ugly.

My head reared back, and I took a step away from her. I gave a jerky nod to the laundromat. “So…you going to make a bid for thi

s place?”

“Oh, uh… No,” Shiloh said, retreating. Her open face reverting to its usual focused, no-nonsense expression. “I mean, yes, I’d love to. But I’m not ready yet, and it’ll be a miracle if it’s still available this summer.”