DECEIT IS A PART OF AN INTERCONNECTED SERIES AND IS A STANDALONE.
IT IS HIGHLY RECOMMENDED TO READ OVERCAST FIRST JUST TO GET A FULL VIEW OF B723 BUT IS NOT REQUIRED.
THIS BOOK MAY HAVE WHAT IS CONSIDERED DARK ELEMENTS AND DOES HAVE TRIGGERS…PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
XOXO,
HAZEL
DECEIT PLAYLIST
I stare down at lucid green eyes, ones that peer up at me with two things I didn't come here for—sheer interest and flirting.
"Hardy Bishop," I sneer. "I need to know where the fuck he is."
The nurse in pink scrubs slowly glances over at the nurses' station as if we both have all the time in the world.
"He's in a room," another woman's voice asserts. "But, sir, you'll be looking for the little girl—" I spin around so quickly that my eyes don't connect with the middle-aged nurse until I blink a few times to focus.
With wrinkles under her sleepy, dark brown eyes and a frown that reminds me of my grandmother, she peers up at me with pure exasperation as if I did something to her. Then instant remorse fills her features because of why I’m here in the first place.
I don’t come to hospitals for shits and giggles.
"What?" I snap when she doesn't continue, my lungs trying to keep up with my movements and the growing dread filling my body. "What about her?"
"You're in the Pediatric Intensive Care unit right now. She was thrown from the car."
"My brother…" I flex my jaw to keep from losing my entire shit in the middle of this stale and depressing as fuck hallway. "Where is he? Where is…the little girl?"
"Room 223…he's restrained." My brows snap together before I deliver her a full-blown glare. "He has a broken arm and severe contusions, sir."
"From what? He wasn't in the car." The nurse glances around. Apparently, my voice has lifted to an outdoor level.
"He got into a fight with the men in the other car."
My mind goes to warp-drive mode.
Car accident.
My niece.
It's really bad.
I shake my head to get it somewhat settled. I didn't get the entire event on what happened from my baby sister, just those three sentences that plagued me the whole way here. Causing me to go well over the speed limit and through half a pack of smokes.
Turning around, I begin to walk then realize I already forgot the room number. I release an irritated grunt and spin back to find the same nurse already waiting for me.
She points to her left. "That way, middle of the hall on the right. Room 223."
With a slight bit of hesitation, I make my way past rooms and medical personnel, glancing at charts while making their rounds. I think about how I should've called my best friend, Kyson, and got him up here with me. He's good with this shit—calm, collected, polite.
Not a raving mess like I am right now with one hell of a temper and lack of patience.
When my feet land outside the door of room 223, they won't move. All I hear from behind the chipped ivory-colored door is the soft beeping of machines that immediately twists my gut.
I haven't seen my brother and sister in fucking years.
I'm talking decades.
Not since they were taken from me by their father to live in a better home than the one Mom had us in. A home that involved her coke-headed friends and men that liked to screw little children.
At the time, I was pissed that he took off with my only siblings, but as time grew on, I can't say I blame the fucker. It just would've been nice to say goodbye and, I don’t know, an address to write to them.
Scarlett and Hardy were my entire universe. From the age of ten, I took care of them, fed them, stole clothes and school supplies, took Scarlett to her first school dance, and made sure Hardy had money for football.
I was mom and dad. I made time. I made sure their stomachs didn’t ache at night from being hungry or that they were picked on in school. I kept the monsters at bay that visited our janky trailer.
Then like every other typical day, I came home to all their shit gone. Everything was thrown around in what looked to be a quick bustle of packing their shit and leaving nothing but dust behind with my brother and sister in tow.
I never slept in my room again.
I stayed in theirs because even though it badgered me with memories, they used to be there. We used to watch TV and read stories. It's where we used to do homework and talk about school, projects, and events.
It was our sanctuary.
Then it became just me, fending for myself against the muck of ass clowns that visited the double-wide shithole I called home.
The door to the dreaded room 223 suddenly swings open, causing me to step back. A young woman in her twenties comes out. Her chin tucked into her chest as she softly closes it behind her before it jerks up.
As if she can sense me.
Wavy brown hair touches her shoulders as light blue eyes pierce right into mine. The faint scattering of freckles still lines the bridge of her nose and cheekbones as her brows slightly furrow, flicking her gaze up all six foot two of me covered in facial hair and, more than likely, the broody-ass expression I always carry.
She's at least five-six in height, wearing faded blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt, looking hella grown up and not so nine-years-old anymore.
That was the last time I saw her.
I sent her to school with a pink Power Ranger shirt on and her hair in a ponytail. It was the last time we were ever in the same room together.
Scarlett.
My baby sister.
When our eyes connect again, it's awkward. I don't know if it's because she feels the same invisible tether that I do or if she's ready to get the elephant out of
