Page 110 of Cruel Delights
…that’s the clean version.
Lyra studies me for a moment. Her gaze indistinct, though curiosity lives deep in the swirl of earthy brown. I decide to circle back to her.
“You said my childhood being lonely was relatable. Was that the case for yours?”
“I’ve told you about the piano and how strict my mother was.”
“Yes, but surely a girl like you had friends. And your sister.”
“No,” she answers flatly.
Then she doesn’t expound. That’s the extent of what she offers.
I arch a brow and pretend I’m still content caressing her naked curves. It seems there is some sort of story she refuses to divulge; I couldn’t find much on her family or childhood. Only her grandma.
A seventy-seven--year-old woman named Opal who lives in a fixed income apartment in Old Northam. I might have to explore that lead.
Lyra refuses to budge otherwise.
I meant what I said when I told her I want to know everything about her. I intend on learning everything there is to know about Lyra Hendrix. No stone will remain unturned, no secret buried, or skeleton hidden in closets. My obsession has taken on a life of its own and demanded it of me.
That I fully understand the woman I have become maddeningly fascinated with before I make up my mind how to proceed.
I’ve stalled long enough. The Owner and the Midnight Society will force my hand any day now.
A decision will have to be made. Either I will go through with my original tasking and do what I promised I would—endLyra—or I will spare her. In which case, I will have to get creative in devising a means for her survival.
However, the question remains: how will Lyra react to the unbridled, grim truth of the matter? How will she react when she learns why I’ve taken such an interest in her? When I tell her who I am… andwhatI am?
Will she be open to that reality? Will she be willing to become a part of my dark, deadly world?
Lyra rolls onto her back and stares at the high ceiling in thought. “We’re kind of similar when you think about it.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Both lonely kids. Both had a lot of pressure on us. Both had mothers with broken hearts.”
Interesting…
“Who broke your mother’s heart? Your father?”
“The man who ruined her life… and mine.”
“That’s quite a title to give someone.”
She pushes herself up and crisscrosses her legs. “You want to talk about trust issues? There’s a reason I don’t let people in. What I saw… tore up my mother. It ruined her. I realized I didn’t ever want to be in the same situation. You were confused by what I saw in a guy like Grady? Loyalty. Reliability. As fucked up and unstable as he is, he’s a poison I know. Better than the ones I don’t. Which is every other man out there.”
“A known poison is hardly better than the unknown ones.”
“Depends how you look at it,” she answers with a shrug. Then she pins me with a stare that can be described as probing and unafraid. “Are you poison, Kaden? Am I going to wind up hurt? Are you going to ruin me?”
That remains a very real possibility, little lamb.
She doesn’t realize how the question she’s asked provides an answer to the questions I asked—can she handle my truth? Can she handle me?
The real me beneath the mask.
No. She’s not strong enough. She’s too weak, too gullible. An actual lamb.