Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5) (26 page)

There are so many things wrong with this picture I don’t even know where to begin. First, the fact my mother has meticulously adhered a large, rather vulgar-looking rubber teat to her person is proof positive we have treaded well into raging lunatic territory. Second, the fact she feels comfortable walking around bare-chested outside the confines of her shower is more than a little unnerving, regardless of the fact her blouse is merely unbuttoned to her belly.

“It’s this new product called ‘Milk from Mommy,’” she whispers as the baby nestles into her breast again. “You attach this apparatus to your person and wear this over your shoulder.” She exposes a thin plastic pouch the kind Dr. Oliver keeps blood in like
sane
people, only this little baggie is chock full of milk, and presumably not my mother’s. “My body heat keeps it at the right temperature while he nurses and we get to connect on an intimate level. We’re forming a real mother, son bond.”

“That is so freaking sick!” Melissa gags at the sight.

“So you just keep refilling it with formula?” Drake surprises me as he pipes up from behind. He’s got his arms folded and his eyes glued to Mom’s triple nipple.

“God, no.” Mom shudders as though he had suggested beer as a viable option. “This is one hundred percent human breast milk. I found a provider from a gal I met at the clinic. She’s right here on the island so I simply drive over each day and pick up a fresh supply.”

“You’re milking people?” Mia whimpers in horror.

I’m betting right about now she wishes she were dead just like Dad.

Baby Beau looks up as if he wanted an answer to this himself.

“She has a machine that milks her.” Mom shoves the baby’s face back into her chest, and he indulges on the rather frightful contraption.

I wonder what level of child abuse this qualifies as and if just witnessing this carnal act carried out on an unsuspecting minor somehow makes us all accessories? God, I bet we’re all going to fry in hell for this.

“Have you seen my belt?” Tad wanders in clutching at his pants, surprisingly blasé about the entire scene until he catches sight of the spectacle and his trousers sail to the ground forming a chino puddle.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. It was bad enough having to witness my mother’s wares and now Tad has joined in on the fun, blinding us all with his tighty whities.

“What the
hell
is going on, Lizbeth?” he bellows with his pants down.

Mom makes bug eyes at him and points hard at his clothing malfunction as if Tad alone had the power to permanently scar us with the manifestation of his hairy legs. She doesn’t have a clue at the outrageous level of improper behavior she herself is breeding. The Landon house has bad form written all over it today.  

At this point I’m not sure which barbaric display of overexposure is worse. 

“I’m breastfeeding.” She shields her hand over the baby’s eyes until Tad covers up his skivvies.

“Jumping Joseph and Mary!” Tad stomps over to my mother and gawks at the indecency she’s propagating under the guise of nutritional bonding. “Crap on a crap cracker. You’re going to get us arrested!”

“Oh, get over it,” she snipes. “Everyone knows breastfed babies grow up to be better-adjusted adults.”

“Not this one,” he fires back. “I’m betting the day little Beau Geste here discovers this morsel of indecency lurking in his past, he’ll be looking to pump some lead into a couple of elderly next-door neighbors. Guess who’ll be sleeping in a casket then, Lizbeth?”

He’s got her there.

“The great thing about it is”—Mom walks over to the couch as if Tad hadn’t just threatened her with caskets and bullets—“any of you can try it.”

“I’ll pass,” I say, blinking a smile at Melissa as she sets down my food.

Tad takes a seat at the table and flips open his laptop, probably hoping to distract himself from the warped fantasy fleshing out around him with something more based in reality, like videos of talking cats.

“Tad?” Mom calls out, hopeful he’ll succumb to her lunacy. Swear to God if Tad starts breastfeeding, I’ll arrange for some bullets and caskets myself, better yet, I’ll avoid the felony and become a permanent resident at Marshall’s palace of perversion
way
the hay before graduation.

“Never mind that,” he snaps, shaking his head into his laptop, “we just bounced three checks, one of which was the mortgage.” He spikes up and points accusingly into the monitor. “Look at this, Lizbeth. Someone hijacked two thousand dollars cash out of our checking account last Thursday. We need to get down to the bank and let them know someone fraudulently accessed our funds.”

Mom remains suspiciously quiet. “Do you girls have your dresses pick out for the big dinner tonight?”

Did Lizbeth Landon just change the subject on a dime? Me thinks she’s guilty two thousand times over.

“Did you hear me?” Tad balks. “Two grand just evaporated into thin air and now we’re up the wazoo in bank fees!”

“You’re upsetting the baby,” she hisses. Her face twitches unnaturally, never a good sign. “I needed that money so I simply withdrew it from our account. I had no idea I needed ‘permission.’” Her auburn hair shakes out around her face.

“You
needed
the money?” He extends his arms to the sides as if she had the power to electrocute him with her words. “How about consulting with a little thing called our
checkbook
to familiarize yourself with the balance? And what exactly did you do with the mortgage, the car, and your friendly neighborhood psychiatrist payment?”

Gah! They’re still paying Dr. Booth?

“It’s for the baby—breast milk doesn’t come cheap.” She returns her attention to the infant currently motorboating in her bosom.

“
Milk
?” Tad’s face turns into a giant raspberry. “We’ve got an entire gallon of cow juice in the fridge! Skyla, pull out the milk and show your mother.”

I choose to ignore his plea for camaraderie although I’m totally siding with Tad.

“It’s for an entire month’s supply,” she shoots back, like that makes things better. “I’ll try to get a price break next time, since he’s really taken to it.”

Tad seizes. He completely stops breathing before zipping out of the room at speeds that defy the laws of physics. Who knew that verbalizing the family’s financial destitution was such an efficient way to make Tad leave the room? Or maybe it was simply my mother’s virally insane third boob.

“That went well,” Melissa quips. “You do realize that the rest of this family needs to eat, right?” She takes a jab at Mom in her father’s absence.

“She’s just trying to take care of the baby that
your
brother abandoned,” Mia fires back.

“Yeah?” Melissa postures with her hands over her hips. “Well, you can kiss any new back-to-school clothes good-bye because that lady just exchanged them for a couple of boobs!”

“Mom!” Mia staggers at the thought of having to wear clothing from yesteryear for yet another season.

“Girls,” Mom calls out, rubbing her head at the temple. “I’ll have enough money to get you both new clothes. I’ll take you to the mall in a week or two.”

They squeal and dance in a circle at the prospect of a shopping spree.

I lean into Mom full with suspicion. If she doesn’t have enough to cover her mortgage maybe we’ll be
living
at the mall? Or in the least Mom will turn into one of those crafty mothers who make you invert store tags on clothes so you can eventually return them.

“Where are you getting this money?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“I’m getting a loan from a friend. He offered to do me the favor anytime I needed.” She cuts a steely glance up at me before petting the baby like he were made of porcelain.

I’ll bet I know exactly who this friend is.

We all know how useless his favors turn out to be.

Chapter 88

Carousing with the Counts

The sky lights up a smooth shade of ash with no rain in sight for the evening, just the ghosts from Ezrina’s underworld submerging us in their mist.

I pick up Logan and Gage in the Mustang and drive us down to the east end of the island.

The melancholy orb of the moon lingers high above, glaring down at us, severe as a blister.

“Strange night,” I muse as we pull down the long secluded road that Logan navigates me toward.

Gage sat in the back so Logan could give directions. His swelling has gone down significantly, leaving him with that slightly “Frankensteined effect” from the bevy of stitches Dr. O had to map out, but what a freaking hot Frankenstein he is. Actually both Logan and Gage took my breath away in their dark suits, their metallic-toned ties, and cutting good looks. I can’t help but feel lucky to have both Oliver boys in my life. I know it can’t go on like this forever, and thanks to Ezrina and the Counts, I won’t have to worry about that too much longer.

A large white mansion that seems on par with Demetri’s not-so-humble abode springs up from behind a row of hedges. I pull up on the long brick driveway where a valet waits to take my keys and thus making a quick escape nothing short of impossible. Good thing I have a handy Levatio by my side, albeit slightly battered and bruised.

Logan and Gage brazenly size me up before we head up the stairs.

“You’re too hot tonight,” Logan muses.

I excavated an old silver dress that I once wore to a New Years’ Eve party, my last one in L.A.

Since I’ve grown over two inches in that time, the hemline has crept up considerably, and with a pair of spiked matching FM’s, it’s made of some serious kick-ass win.

“I’m really trying to get Ellis’s dad to like me.” Hell I’m trying to get Arson to like me, too. I might even volunteer to open a blood bank in the back of the venue in an effort to keep me out of solitary confinement.

Who knew making it to my senior year would be my new goal in life?

“Oh, he’ll like you.” Logan averts his eyes. “He likes them young. His new girlfriend is a sophomore in college.”

“So I’ve witnessed. His poor wife.” I’d stab my husband in the eye if he even looked at a sophomore in college, well, unless the sophomore in question was me.

“Ex-wife. She’s likes them young, too,” Logan adds.

Gage gives a quiet nod affirming Logan’s theory regarding the juvenile-loving Harrisons.

Gage is tall, dark and handsome tonight and far too quiet, but apparently speaking is beyond painful when half your face is stitched up. Not that I mind. Gage is even hotter as the strong, silent type.

We enter the through a set of beveled glass doors into a sea of elegantly dressed people. The architecture is comprised of nothing but sparkling chandeliers, glossy marbled floors, and expensive artwork—your standard fare as far as megalomaniac Counts are concerned.

I spot Ellis with his parents talking to some kids I don’t recognize, probably from East. Arson Kragger is yakking it up with Ellis’s dad, most likely going over procedures on how they’ll snatch me in my sleep. Behind him, an entire wall looks as if it’s missing—the house simply opens up to the backyard where a massive buffet is set up.

“OK.” I take a quick breath while glancing at both Logan and Gage. “Maybe you guys should hang out by the food?” Because I guarantee they will not like what is about to go down.

I stride confidently in Ellis’s direction. Why do I get the feeling this is going to hurt?

He takes one look at me, and his jaw drops. His father’s eyes bulge out of his head as if he’d like a piece of me himself.

I strut my stuff, swaying my hips, trying not to wobble on my five-inch heels and ignore the fact it feels as if I’m walking on ice.

“Hey,” I squeal into Ellis who looks resplendent in his own right, and just as I’m about to enter their circle, my foot glides out from under me. I throw my hands in the air, trying to right myself with an unflattering gyration. Instead of falling flat on my ass, I manage to accidently knock Arson’s wineglass into Morley’s face. He jumps back and inspects the fresh blotch of crimson on his white dress shirt while wiping down his eyes.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I try to mop up the effort with his tie. “You can get it out real easy with hydrogen peroxide. It bubbles up real cool and everything.” Oh, wait that’s for bloodstains. Dear God, this isn’t blood, is it?

“It’s quite all right.” He pulls his suit over a notch and buttons it, hiding the hideous disaster his future faux daughter-in-law just inflicted upon him.

“How are you doing?” Ellis’s mother, Olivia, embraces me. She holds the scent of strawberries and springtime, her bright orange hair hangs almost to her waist. “Remind me to thank you for that later,” she whispers.

It’s hard to tell whether or not I’ve pleased her. She suffers a self-inflicted facial paralysis via Botox so it’s nearly impossible to decipher her true emotions.

“I might take you up on that.” I give a shy smile to the boy and to Bootsie, who inspects the awkward exchange. It’s only then I notice the boy’s arm wrapped around Olivia’s waist while Bootsie nuzzles into Morley’s neck. Seriously? Eww. And by the way, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that they’re both showing me up in the PDA department.

They’re all standing around sort of gaping at me expecting me to molest Ellis or go home, so I pull him in and indulge in a lingering lip-lock that gives homage to PDA’s everywhere. I stab my tongue around Ellis’s mouth as if I lost a diamond in there.

Crap. Kissing Ellis is worse than sucking face with burnt toast. He tastes exactly how he smells, perfectly illegal, and I don’t mean that in any good way. I am so going to have to do something about this, stat. But, really? There aren’t enough breath mints in the world.  

This is all systems go, no dicking around. I have one night as far as I see it to prove to the Counts that I need to stay on this side of the island.

Ellis pulls back and tries to catch his breath.

“You’re good,” he whispers, astonished by the fact, as if he were truly expecting a less than stellar performance.

“Skyla?” A voice booms from behind.

I turn to find Tad and Mom with the baby in a sling over her chest. I hope to God he’s not sucking on her auxiliary nipple in front of mixed company. The Counts will probably want the entire family banished from the planet for that act of perversion, but then again, my mother is one herself.