Be careful what you ask for.
When digging deep, you may uncover bodies.
Maisie's life has been falling apart since her older sister went missing years ago without a trace. With a dead father and a mentally unstable mother, the teenage girl ha...
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-LOGAN-
MY SISTER'S HAIR sways as she walks further away. It is the same shade of blonde Isla carried. But the length is shorter, and I appreciate the distinction. Since Maisie got her hair cut, I have been able to look at her and not see our missing sister every damn time.
My fingers ache to drag her right back into the living room, throw her over my shoulder if needed—which, definitely, would be—and force that stupid idea out of her head. It is a school dance, Goddamn it, why—why—do they allow kids to go with dates?
A long exhale leaves my nostrils, my hands closing into fists by my sides. My head starts to throb the exact second Maisie opens the front door, letting her friends in. The ringing of eight girls high pitches drill holes in my skull.
Do they compete to see who is louder? Fuck.
I rub my temple, the tension pilling on my shoulders. I glance at my older brother. He wears his condescending look—chin held high, a single brow cocked, head slightly tilted. He is pretty much asking for a rough-up.
For the way his mouth is set on a thin line, I know I have gotten right under his skin with my last sentence. Do not let her go—the words still linger on my tongue while shame takes over. I seemed like a pussy, begging Alasdair.
And the thing I crave the most right now is the jab my brother is surely biting down.
"Come on, say what you are thinking," I taunt him, both of us still in the living room, our sister's laughter long gone as she climbs up the stairs to the fourth floor. "I know you are dying to."
Alasdair only scoffs, head shaking. I suck on a breath of air. Come on, don't hold back, I have been waiting for almost three years.
I point with my chin to Maya still sitting on the armchair. "Too pussy whipped to do it? Afraid she will see your ugly side?"
"No, Logan," Al spits out, looking me up and down. "It is just not worth it."
And then he is walking the other way, towards the dining room. My hands collapse against my jeans.
"Go on, then. Leave," I snarl at his retrieving back. "You're good at that."
He stops in his tracks. A smirk spreads on my lips. Go fish fish, bite the bait.
His blue eyes find me over his shoulder. The same color as mine. Today, that seems to be the only thing we share, but it hadn't been like this eight or so years ago.
