Page 79 of The Eleventh Hour
They’re angled away from each other, and neither of them speaks. Dane clears his throat and reaches in front of my plate for my water. He takes a sip and replaces it in front of me. I stare at the glass, mesmerised, such a small thing, but it’s so personal.
“That was mine,” I say belatedly.
“Was.” Dane smiles and strokes his hand from my knee all the way up my leg. I snap them closed and glower at my glass.
“Are you all right, Jax? You look constipated.” River laughs and takes a mouthful of his wine.
“I’ll kick your ass, River, I swear,” I say with a scorching hot face.
“You can try,” River dares me.
Dane removes his hand, and it’s a welcome relief that comes shockingly with a bolt of regret. I don’t have time to wallow because he leans back and places his arm behind my chair and lets his fingers dance up and down my nape, rubbing tiny circles in the bottom of the hairline.
I sit stiffly, cursing Rafael for convincing me to wear it up, and try to hide the shivers. All my body wants to do is melt into the touch, turn into a complete puddle, and purr with pleasure. I hold it together by a thread. But when River taps my hand, I almost jump out of my skin, tipping over my glass.
River explodes into laughter as I curse and silently rail at the perverse nature of men.
“Bit distracted tonight, sister? I guess I would be, too, if I had a boyfriend for each arm.”
I exhale through my teeth and pick up my spoon to stab into the dessert. By the time I’ve finished it, I have no idea what it tasted like, and my attention is evenly split between Dane and his stroking fingers and River and his jokes. I feel coiled tighter than a windup toy.
Mason opens the door and slips in. He heads straight to my dad, but he looks over at me. My stomach sinks. I push to my feet and move around the table. Dad and Mason meet me there. I’m barely aware of River, Dane, and Rafe beside me.
As soon as the door closes behind us, I grip Mason’s hand. “Is it Cherise?”
He glances at my father, who nods slightly.
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“Where?”
He turns towards the garden, and I just know. I take off running, jumping the steps two at a time, and following the path until I get to the gazebo in the middle of Jeraldine’s dahlia garden.
In the dim light, she looks peaceful. She’s sitting up, and her eyes are closed. She’s dressed in a beautiful white gown, and there is a dahlia on her lap. It could be a beautiful scene. It could be so innocent, and that’s what is so perverse about it. The corruption of innocence. My mind traces over every detail, comparing it to the photos, to what I know. Bruises on her wrists and ankles, burns on her calves and forearms, cuts on her chest. The gaping wound of the killing slice straight from ear to ear.
Mason shines a light, and the stark white of her skin and the white of the dress contrasts with the exquisite, painful crimson hue that covers her chest and the top of the bodice and that dahlia.
The dahlia that is a calling card. The dahlia dipped in blood.
“Mason, I need you to lift her dress. I need to see her hip.”
Mason checks in with my father, and then edges forward. He is hesitant and gentle when he lifts the dress. More wounds are exposed, too many to count.
I did this.
I should have known better. I don’t look at Dane or Rafael, but I see them there, throat sliced, so many wounds. Cherise wears so many faces. I see my father there, my siblings, her son, Jacob, Sparrow, Astaire, Titan, every person I know lays there in that moment.
I suck in a startled breath as the dress inches up to her hips. I’m shocked even though I was half prepared to see it. The dahlia brand on her hip, identical to mine. Did she scream the way I screamed or was there mercy for my friend?
Rafe glances over at me. I can feel his eyes, but I ignore him. There is nothing I can tell him right now. Even if I was capable, I still wouldn’t tell him. Some secrets are better left in the dark, and this one is between me and the dead.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper so quietly no one hears me. In some distant part of myself, I know that I’ve gone numb, that the pain is there, and I will soon feel it in stereo, but for now, the floating part of myself turns and walks away.
Dane
I’ve never seen a dead body before. That thought keeps repeating in my brain in a strangely calm tone. I feel kind of numb and detached, but the horror of it is searing itself into my eyelids, burrowing down to implant itself in my brain. There’s so much dried blood on her body, but distantly, I know that there should be more. The ground around her is pristine. Her dress has a delicate lace hem. One of my foster mums used to wear dresses with the same pattern. I hated them because she had looked older, even though she was trying so hard to be young. I’ll hate it for a different reason now.
“Dane,” Rafe whispers.