Heaven's Crime (gxg) ✓

fifteen. olive garden shenanigans

                   "Where do we go now?"

                   I woke up handcuffed to a Mafia boss. The devil offered me a deal. We outran a murderous Yakuza truck driver.

                   And now we're sitting in an Olive Garden.

                  "Any more breadsticks?" asks the waiter.

                  "Yes," I say politely, and he disappears into the bustling crowd, the round tables brimming with large, shouting families.

                  Veah raises an eyebrow. "I think you've had thirty breadsticks."

                  "Who's counting?"

                  "Probably the bill."

                  I laugh. "No kidding, you're not American. Breadsticks at Olive Garden are free."

                  Her eyes widen. "They're free?" 

                  "And delicious," I say. I'm not worried about gaining weight—running for your life burns a lot of calories. "Besides, I've learned not to take free things for granted."

                  "Why's that?" 

                  Her question surprises me. More than it should.

                  Casually, I flick my eyes back down to my plate. "I was homeless for a little while. Two years ago. It was just for the summer before university started."

                  Her smile fades and the storm glint in her eyes becomes knifelike.

                  "Why were you homeless?"

                  I swallow a sip of water. "My stepfather gave my mom an ultimatum. Him, or me. She chose him, and I got to go."

                  Even though it wasn't my choice, leaving Cassie was the hardest thing I had done in my life.

                  "And before you ask," I say. "It was just for the summer. Once university started, I had my full-ride scholarship. I got a job, I paid for my dorm last year, and now I live with Lindsay and we share the rent."

                   "And your mother?"

                   I shrug. "Still living with my stepfather."

                   And my sister, I think.

                   She is sixteen, and as long as she's there, she's not safe. But the most I can do is text her, and even that . . . it's risky. I know Gavin still checks her phone, still monitors her messages.

                  Veah's eyes become silver flame.

                  I see it as she hones something sharp, lethal inside of her, stilling that jagged edge—hiding that feral storm. And in that moment, she reminds me of lightning.

                  "Where does your stepfather live?" she asks casually.

                  "Gavin? He—" My eyes narrow. "You don't need to know that."

                  "Just out of curiosity."

                  "Does curiosity involve you slitting his throat?"