Free Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6) by JC Emery

immediately. She’s aged a little since I last saw her, but just barely. She’s at a small round table with another woman, who’s got to be mid-twenties at the most, with medium-brown hair and a small baby bump. The two women are flipping through what I hazard to guess is a baby name book. At the bar is another young woman with long blonde hair that flows down her back in waves. She’s drinking a can of pop and chatting with a woman whose back is to me. Still, I know this woman without even seeing her face.
    Michele Wallace isn’t my favorite person on the planet, but she’s not my least favorite either. We haven’t talked in years, especially after the shit she pulled with that dude she was seeing, but that doesn’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. Her dark-brown hair is dyed a bright red, and she’s barely clothed—just like Dad said she would be—but she’s still my sister. I don’t know if I should go up to her and say hi or ignore her like we’ve been doing to one another for years.
    When she turns around to face the blonde woman, it only takes her a second to look my way and stop mid-sentence. She keeps her attention fixed on me for a long moment before she walks around the side of the bar and takes a few quick steps toward me before she stops. Fear shines in her eyes and radiates in her every step. Another relationship I destroyed with my pride.
    “Mishy.” I’m pleading with her. My voice is soft and needy, and I hope she still remembers that nickname. I couldn’t pronounce her name properly when I was little, so I ended up calling her Mishy, and it just stuck. Right before our big fight, I called her Mishy and begged her not to go off with that dude. She didn’t listen, though, and I was so upset, so scared, and so angry for her after the fact that I basically shunned her. The memory haunts me even after almost five years.
    My feet carry me to her just as she rushes at me. In no time, we have our arms wrapped around one another and we’re holding on for dear life. She’s obnoxious and doesn’t listen for shit, but she’s my little sister no matter what she does. I’ve been preaching about family and forgiveness to Zander since before he knew what any of it meant. Maybe it’s time I start practicing what I preach.
    “Ambs,” she says into my ear. It’s a whisper, if even, and it’s pained as all hell. I could pretend to ignore it, but I don’t. It feels damn good to have my sister back in my arms. We’ve both made choices in our lives that have brought us to our respective places—the only difference is that my choices led me to being Wyatt’s old lady and hers led her to being a Forsaken lost girl.
    Our mother would kill her if she were still alive.
    Hell, I want to kill her. Dad’s tried to get her out of it, pleaded with me to talk to her even, but she won’t budge. Michele has her reasons for why she does what she does, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
    “This another one of your little visits?” she asks in my ear. I pull back just enough to catch her eye. She’s got circles under her eyes that are too dark to be healthy, and there is a heaviness to them that tells me she’s under water right now.
    “I’m home,” I say.
    Shock registers on her face just as angry shouts below out from down the hall. I turn to find Ruby and the woman with her at the table staring at me. Ruby’s got a smirk crowding up her mouth, but the other woman looks uneasy with her brows pulled together. Michele lets me go just in time for Ruby to walk over slowly and wrap her arms around me.
    “ ’Bout time you’re home,” she says quietly. The shouting is still going on down the hall, but we ignore it. Instead, Ruby eyes me curiously as she says, “A king can’t function without his queen.”
    “Glad to be back,” I admit, trying to avoid all talk of Wyatt. Ruby may not be the president’s old lady anymore, but that doesn’t mean she’s clueless. In a lot of ways,