Page 53 of Beastly Armory
Arianna looks bored, staring into her lap. Is she— “Arianna, do you have a phone at the table?”
She looks up from the table, her eyes wide. “Um, sorry. I was just looking stuff up.”
Snapping my fingers, I open a palm toward her. “Let me see.”
A sharp breath exhales through her nose. “Max, no. I’m a grown adult. No.”
“Let me see it, Arianna. Now.” The entire room quiets when I slam my fist on the table. Since when did she start disobeying me? If she’s choosingnowof all times to do so, she has another thing coming… I’ll lock her up if I must just to keep her safe.
“Max, don’t,” Livia pleads with a quiet tone. Meeting her bright golden eyes, she shakes her head, the tail of her hair falling behind her shoulder. “Don’t, Max. Let’s enjoy our dinner.”
Ugh, these two are now thick as thieves. “Do you know what she’s looking up?”
Sticking her chin out, Livia answers boldly, “Yes.”
I gasp. “She could be in danger.” And the fox doesn’t even seem to give a shit.
“Max, we’re always in danger. All the time. It’s fine. It’s girl stuff, and you don’t need to worry about it. Leaveit alone.”
Mrs. Kroft enters with our main course, and the smell of the steaks almost has me forgetting my anger. “Fine, just put away the phone at the table.” Girl stuff. Maybe it’s about tampons or something. Better not be about birth control or babies or some shit like that. She’s too young.
The rest of the meal is peaceful as Cal and I catch up on some funny stories from our youth, brightening the earlier doom I felt with Livia. He’s still mad that Ace and I hid behind the coffins to scare him.
When we wish the Von Dovish clan a good night, Livia tells me she’ll be by early the next day. By then, I’ve forgotten about Arianna’s phone and whoever she may be communicating with.
Fourteen
LIVIA
Cliff Harbor is a beautiful town. Clean. Its streets are well kept, and people are out late at night when we arrive, mulling about with their families. Passing the docks, I spot kids with cake cones filled with swirly white ice cream and couples holding hands. The toxin that is Gnarled Pine hasn’t infected the air here, which is thick with salt and sugar.
“Should we stop and grab a drink before? We have time.” Max points to a bar that looks like an old, boarded wharf with gray cedar shingles and a lit-up red crab for a sign. It’s been remodeled to attract tourists like us and the large parking lot off the main street is almost full, so their marketing must be working. Turning the wheel of the Victor, I pull into the last spot.
When we get out, both of us take a moment to stretch. I didn’t stop as much as I wanted on our trip because every time I dared to pull over at a gas station, Max would exclaim, “You have to peeagain?” If I neverhear those words coming out of his mouth, it would be too soon. Now, I was bursting at the seams. Holding it would prevent his annoying expressions of consternation, though.
Taking a few steps toward the boardwalk, Max strides next to me and grabs my hand. When we reach the pier, I notice other twosomes leaning against the rails, taking selfies, and talking or laughing. Max tucks me into his side and puts his cut arm around my shoulders. Like I’m his.
We must look like one of those couples. One of the ones where things appear normal just before they aren’t. Happy. Until we’re eating dinner at a restaurant, not talking to each other and wishing we could look at our phones instead. Before Max gets more interested in younger pussy and decides to off me.
Nothing lasts. Certainly not healthy marriages in Gnarled Pine.
My parents’ marriage was a testament to the state of matrimony in the Hollow. I loved my mother dearly, but she made poor decisions. The worst of which was letting her guard down around my father. It’s hard enough for me to trust anyone, but especially men, seeing that it’s the ones closest to you who can do the greatest harm.
Despite my overwhelming nihilism, my fingers feel for the little metallic object in my pocket. As if wishing will make reality any different. As if I don’twantto accept the truth that I should. As if true love exists. The tiny hope that things could be different for me… That glimmer of my dream needs to die. Because if it doesn’t, I’ll get deeply hurt. Possibly killed. Just like Franklin did to my mother.
Divorce was not an option for clan leaders. In the history of Gnarled Pine Hollow, no senator had left his wife, except through death. So, whenever the men were done with them, had their heirs and simple affairs with the mistresses weren’t enough anymore, a sneaky sudden death would occur. I guess it was always a threat to the womenfolk on how to act right. A woman of stature in Gnarled Pine Hollow should learn to be obedient, bear heirs, and be a good helpmeet… or else.
All I learned was that it's safer to be solo.
Twisting out from under Max’s embrace, I turn to the restaurant.
“Uh, okay. Apparently, you don’t like to be touched.” Max huffs.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just a little, um, couple-y for me. Let’s go.” Using my head, I point to the boarded door of the place, hoping he’ll just drop it and not get offended.
Max stops and glares at me with his hands on his hips, his wide chest puffing up. He shakes his head, then moves toward the entrance. “I don’t get you.” His body brushes past me to open the door, and with a quick flick of his hand, he motions for me to enter, holding it open like I’m wasting his time. Clicking his jaw, he says with annoyance, “Go pee. I’m sure you have to. I’ll grab us some beer and food.”
After using, then cleaning up in the restroom, I rub a hand along the sides of my head where the hairs tickle my palms. I need a fresh shave. Dreading returning to thedining area, I stall and primp my mohawk, apply some lip balm, wash my hands for a second time... Max is going to treat this like a date. And I don’t want that. Not if I want to live.