Page 166 of Boys Who Hunt

“It must be tough for you.”

Is she … pitying me?

“I’m fine,” I reply, grinding my teeth.

I don’t need pity, especially not from her.

“You obviously love your sister a lot,” she says, eyeing the bottle of pills still lying on my dashboard.

I swiftly snatch them off and tuck them into my pocket.

Still, she can’t look away. “You only have one family, Heath. Please, be kind to them.”

“Don’t concern yourself with mine when you’ve got your own shit to deal with,” I retort.

“I don’t have any,” she replies.

I frown, glancing her way between driving. “What do you mean?”

She averts her eyes. “I’m alone with Cora. I haven’t seen my mother in a long time. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her happy.” She sighs.

“What about your dad?”

“He’s dead,” she answers abruptly.

Oh. Fuck.

I did not see that one coming.

I swallow back the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

She nods. “I’m just saying, don’t take the family you have for granted.”

Maybe she has a point.

And now I feel stupid for lashing out at her instead.

She’s done nothing to draw my ire. Nothing that involves my family, anyway. I grab her hand, squeezing it softly.

She briefly glances up at me, and a small smile tips up her lips before it immediately disappears again, and she pulls her hand away from mine, her cheeks flushing with heat.

“What size of clothes does Cora have?” I ask.

“Huh? Why do you ask?”

“I think it’s about time we put this baby to use.” I slap the steering wheel. “Now tell me where to drive, and I’ll take you there.”

After we’ve finishedshopping for Cora, I put everything in the trunk of the car, then take Ivy to one of the high-end boutiques in Crescent Vale City.

Nothing is more satisfying than watching her put on twenty or more outfits to see if they fit. Her figure really shines in these gorgeous Chanel dresses, and I can’t keep my eyes off her.

Every time she exits the changing room, she looks like a completely different person, chic, daring, provocative, luxurious, all of it combined. And even though she has no clue how to wear the dresses, the dresses fit her to a T.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“They look lovely, but …” She turns around in the mirror and finds the tag, her face losing all its color. “That price tag, my God.”

I tap my fingers impatiently. “What about it?”