I sit near Rusty, just to piss off Atlas. It’s his fault he’s here.
“Who’s this?” Dad asks when he appears out of nowhere. I grind my jaw, wondering what the fuck my parents are doing home and why they give a flying fuck. They’re not usually home, let alone in Silvercrest. Not unless someone dies, Grim or the Society brings them home, or if Atlas and I do irreversible damage.
We did.
Do they know? That we slept together? Breaking a bond deeper than blood?
Shit.
I eye Atlas, seeing the same questions filtering through his head.
He’s always in tune with me.
“Rusty Johnson,” Rusty introduces himself like the good little charitable boy he is. It takes a lot not to roll my eyes at the way his voice sounds mature and put together.
Atlas doesn’t hold back though. His eyes nearly roll back, and it has me hiding my smile in my fist.
“Oh, Sally and Tom’s child?”
“The one and only.”
Ew. He’s such a loser.
“Nice to meet you,” our father says to him and grasps his shoulder. He’s being modest. Society members don’t care about the middle class, but Dad is a historian, so maybe that’s why he knows the name.
“What brings you home?” I question pointedly at my dad. He studies me, not giving anything away.
“Can a father not visit?”
“No.” It’s a single syllable, but I just let it breathe out of me.
“Well, it’s just that, son. And business.”
I scoff, fisting my palms, my nails biting the flesh. “I’ve got shit to do.”
“Language, Kenjington Grim,” Mother scolds from behind me. I turn to her.
“Nice.”
“It seems I’ve come at a bad time,” Rusty mutters.
I grip his knee softly but no less commandingly. “No, perfect timing. You know where Atlas’s room is. We’ll meet you there. We only have so many hours before we have to be elsewhere,” I add, so he knows it’s time sensitive.
Rusty stares at my parents and their unwavering faux kindness and then at Atlas all the way back to me. “Okay, I’ll see you in there.” Nodding at him, he walks down the long corridor to the stairs. He’ll find his way.
“You’re acting immature, son,” Dad sounds out as soon as Rusty is out of sight.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Dad. Forgot you had a heart in there,” I say dryly, knocking on his chest twice. “Oh look, not hollow after all.”
“Enough,” Atlas barks at me, stopping my next words before they’re here.
“Fuck you,” I spit. “You can pretend they’re the best thing when they’re home, but we both know where their love ends. They’re here for business, then they’ll fuck off like every other birthday of ours. You and I both know it.”
“KJ,” he warns, his hands balled. “Not now.”
“No!” I yell, my voice rising with each breath. “They haven’t been home for a birthday in five years. Five fucking years, Atlas. I’m sick of their shit.”
He stalks toward me, gripping my shoulders. Squeezing my bicep, he raises me, dragging me down toward the playroom. Mom and Dad don’t say a word as he hauls me to the room we avoid. It’s easy to do when the last memory in here is of my brother telling me I’d lost my bet. That day could have been worse, but it’s also the first time I stopped being his best friend. He opens the door, and it slams against the doorjamb, rattling the little bobble. I want to laugh, to muster something other than hatred, but I don’t. I can’t.
“You’re really fucking shit up, Rischio.”
“Don’t call me that to calm me,” I implore, feeling my walls tumble with the softness of his eyes.
“Please just let me handle them. You’re volatile when they’re involved.”
“Because they—”
“I know, baby.” He softens more, like melted chocolate, a soft caramel drizzle that soothes me. His words always work, his attention, affection, the love only he offers me.
“I know they’re a big disappointment. They always have been,” he continues. “But within the Society, they have jobs, rules. As we grew older, I realized they weren’t avoiding us on purpose. Like us, they have a role to play.”
I nod, not understanding, but wanting him to know his words make sense.
“They’re killers, KJ.”
I’m almost gawking at his response as he shuts the door, peering outside it once more. When he’s happy with whatever is seen, he locks it. Does he not realize we have to see Rusty soon? Even if to send him away. We can’t hide in a fucking arcade, even if that’s all I currently want.
My brother and me.
Just us.
“They aren’t like us. It took me a long time to understand that they sacrifice their relationship with us so we’re not forced to take all the Grim assignments. Imagine if we had to do what they did at the age they did? We’d be teen serial killers. All for a cause that doesn’t make sense.” I’m trying to understand. Really, I am. But how the hell are our boring parents these crazy killers? “Doesn’t it make sense? The bloodlust we have, the desire for each other while others die at our feet?”
“Shit,” I mutter, biting the inside of my cheek. Blood coats my tongue as I pinch too hard. “So, they don’t hate us?”
“Not that I can tell, but I think it’s because I take jobs that you’re not privy to that I understand now.”
“Wait, you… kill?”
“Often, yes.” He says this as if it’s not a huge fucking deal. He just admitted to being a serial killer.
“What the fuck?”
“I’ll explain more later; we’ve got a lot to discuss. Like the fact that you’re not going to touch that prick downstairs, and I’m going to make him leave.”
“Tomorrow,” I mutter. “Tick, tock.”
“Exactly why this can’t happen tonight. We can’t have them home.”
“Why not? Maybe they’ll join.”
“Gross. No. We can’t have them culpable for a non-book murder,” he hisses, almost as if he’s privy to rules I know nothing of.
“Because an on-book one is acceptable,” I snide.
“Jesus. Let’s just call it a night, no? Blowjobs?” he attempts to joke,
