by T. L. Martin
Unless there’s a reason to.
“Embrace the glorious mess that you are.”
—Elizabeth Gilbert
“Really. I’m not hungry.” Emmy’s stomach growls as she stares past the doorway at the dining table, the scent of eggs and bacon wafting into the hall.
Grabbing my phone, I pull up my text thread with Aubrey. “Your stomach disagrees.” My fingers dart across the keypad, but when Emmy still doesn’t move, I shift my eyes to her. I didn’t plan on doing a kill in front of her; however, I haven’t exactly worked out how to leave her behind either. Regardless of Raife’s motives, Murphy is finally coming, and I’m going to end him. “The next twenty-four hours are going to be . . . eventful. You don’t eat now, you might miss your chance. And your appetite.”
She frowns but eyes the table again, her feet slowly moving toward it this time. “All right.”
As she makes her way to the table, I stay in the hall and wrap up my text to Aubrey.
Me: Look into the agency Emmy’s sister went to work with. I want to know who they are and how they were able to contact her while she was here. Also, confirm that she did arrive and when.
Aubrey: Yes, Master.
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I glance up to see Griff walking my way.
He stops right in front of me. “Big day ahead.”
I clench my teeth when he flicks his gaze to Emmy. “I thought we talked about the new rule, brother. You don’t get to look at her.”
His eyes flash, and he doesn’t answer. But he does look away from her.
“You guys should be proud,” I murmur, taking a step toward him until we’re almost nose to nose. “Going behind my back twice in two days.”
Griff’s lips twist up. “Someone needed to move forward, whether it was you or Raife, and you know it. Raife just happens to be the one getting the ball rolling. Who am I to deny him?”
“Considerate.”
He narrows his gaze. “I didn’t come find you to rehash.”
“So spit it the fuck out already.”
“There’ve been some changes this morning. One of your kills is going to be here sooner than expected.”
A snarl works through my throat, and I grab Griff’s collar, pushing him back against the wall. “You have no business fucking with my plans. There’s a reason I’ve been slowing them down.”
“Yeah?” He shoves my hand off him and pushes off the wall. “You guys may have saved my life, but when you start treating a chick better than your brothers, you need to look at your fucking priorities.”
We stare at each other for a minute, him looking as aggravated as I feel, and for the first time in a long while, I remember it.
The day I met Griff.
(Fourteen years old)
Fists slam down on the table, the teen’s body straining against the straps as he fights. Katerina walks a slow circle around him, trailing a fingernail along his body as she does.
“So many scars,” she whispers. “Poor Griffin. You’ve suffered so much.”
He huffs through her coaxes, still not saying a word. He’s refused to speak since she began this interview almost an hour ago.
“You can fight. You can kick and growl like an animal,” she murmurs. “But you will eventually have to speak.” She flicks her gaze around the room. “Do you see this small space? It feels cramped with the two cages and my artwork, doesn’t it? But this, this is a lot more than just a room. There’s history in these steel walls. You see, bomb shelters have many uses, many models, and this one in particular has a way of holding everything inside its walls. There’s not so much as a crack beneath the door to let its essence out, and such closeness allows my art to speak to me long after my subjects are gone.” She pulls back and inhales sharply. “Can’t you smell them?”
I close my eyes for a split second and swallow. Not because of what she’s saying, but because I can.
I can smell them.
Sofia jumps when the steel door swings open. Baldy’s fingers grip No Name’s arm as he shoves him toward my cage. The kid is naked, glaring and using his hands to cup his shit. I knew he was taken for pictures; I should have guessed they would have been nude.
Baldy is about to unlock my cage when Katerina strolls over and eyes No Name up and down.
She shakes her head. “I’ll never understand the use of children as sexual objects. Completely twisted.” She unlocks the cage herself and steps aside for Baldy to shove him in before locking it back up. “If Murphy hasn’t transferred him by the end of the week, move him back to the storage room.”
“It’s still full.” He pushes No Name’s clothes through the bars then nods toward the kid on the table, Griffin. “We’ve got his spot open but there’s already a new arrival scheduled to fill his crate.”
“Figure it out.” She gazes at Griffin, the wheels in her mind spinning. “I have an idea for this one. It will take a few days, though, then another week of prepping him for sales. I can’t have distractions.”
Baldy quirks a brow, then he nods and exits the room.
When Katerina heads back to taunt Griffin some more, I turn my attention to the buck-naked kid before me.
“Shit.” I shake my head. “Didn’t really think this one through, huh?” It’s a sick attempt at making his smirks come back, but now that he’s leaving, I realize it’s going to suck without them.
His glare shifts to me, but after a second, his lips tilt up. “You underestimate me,” he says under his breath.
My brows crash together. I match his quiet tone when I ask, “What’d you do?”
He nods toward the door Baldy just walked out of. “Remember his keys?”
I squint, scanning his body for something I missed. Even if he did manage to swipe them, where in the hell would he have stored them? “Yeah . . .”
He licks his lips, rubbing his stomach. “Best breakfast I’ve had all year.”
“You are a crazy son of a bitch.”
He smirks. “Fuck right I am. The crazy son of a bitch who’s getting us out of here.” He pulls his dirty jeans over his hips, then slumps down on the cold floor beside me. “You meant what you said about all the shit you wanna do to them, right? To these fuckers in charge?”
I rest my head back against the wall and picture it, letting two years of fucked up desires flood me. The way it eats through my skin and burrows beneath my bones grips me more like a compulsion than a desire.
After a second, I nod. “I don’t think I have a choice.” And I don’t think I want one either.
“Good.” He spits on the floor then wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes going black. “You and me. We’re in this together, right?”
I slide my eyes to him. The only kid I’ve met who might be more fucked up than me. The rattling chains pull my attention back to the teen strapped to the table. Griffin’s eyes are just as black as No Name’s while he continues to struggle.
Hmm, so maybe not the only one.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Together, man.”
“She didn’t need to be saved.
She needed to be found and appreciated, for exactly who she was.”
—J. Iron Word
After swallowing the last bite, my fork clatters against the plate when I see Adam shove Griff against the wall. He’s clenching Griff’s collar so tight his knuckles are white.
Pushing out my chair, I collect my dishes and set them aside then rush toward them. Griff is already turning his back and walking away by the time I reach Adam.
“Hey,” I say softly, running my fingers down Adam’s arm. He’s staring at Griff’s back, his fists clenched and a vein bulging in his neck. “Hey, what’s wrong? What’d he do?”
He’s still watching Griff when his phone dings. He pulls it out of his pocket and swipes the screen, his movements tight. After a second, he grits his jaw and slips it back into his pocket.
Finally, he turns to me. His gaze drifts along my face, eventually landing on my eyes. “Fr
ankie’s sudden modeling gig popped up four weeks ago.”
My brows knit. “Okay?”
“How long have you been here?”
I glance down, thinking it over. When I look back at him, I’m more confused than ever. “Four weeks.”
His hand finds my waist, gripping tightly, then he’s guiding me down the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“To find Raife and figure out what the fuck he’s up to.”
When we reach Raife’s office, it’s empty, but Adam bulldozes straight to his desk, opening drawers and flicking through files. I make my way around the desk and move the computer mouse until the screen whirs to life. But of course it’s locked. A garbled noise of frustration escapes my throat.
Adam glances at me, his lips tipping up at one corner. My stomach flips at the warmth igniting behind his eyes.
When he looks back down at the opened drawer before him, his gaze narrows. He whips out a file, tossing it on the desk and flipping it open. My eyes widen as I see photograph after photograph filling the folder.
Mama on her knees in prayer. Priest Henry scattering holy water around the trailer to cleanse the space.
My stomach twists at the third picture. I reach toward it, picking it up and staring into the flames. Mama found the canvases I hid under Frankie’s bed. Some of them anyway. She’s standing over them in the yard, watching them burn to ash. Right beside them is another box. My pillowcase, clothes, the pictures Frankie and I took together and hid away—none of it is recognizable now.
I close my eyes, willing the tears forming along my lashes not to spill. I don’t know why it hurts. I should know better than to expect anything else by now.
When I open my eyes, Adam is watching me closely. I want to turn away, but the look in his gaze holds me captive.
He gives the slightest shake of his head, his voice low and commanding. “You don’t get to hide anymore. Not from me.”
After a second, my shoulders relax, and I let out a shaky breath. Relief floods me at not having to try. I don’t want to anymore. I nod, and he withdraws another photo from the pile.
I frown, squinting as I look it up and down. It’s a man I’ve never seen before, but I know who he is. He has dark hair, and a small blond-haired baby, bundled in a pink blanket, is in his arms.
“Your father?” Adam asks quietly.
I don’t speak for a moment. I only heard Mama mention Daddy once, and that was to Frankie. She said he couldn’t confront giving himself fully to the Lord. That he made his choice and would suffer eternally for it, but she and Frankie didn’t have to do the same.
That’s the thing about Mama, though. Whenever something threatens her beliefs, or her journey to Heaven, she forbids it—or them—from being spoken of under our roof. She is happy to pretend we never existed at all.
“If you can call him that,” I finally whisper. Setting the photo down, I flip to the back of the file and see copies of my birth certificate and social security card. Behind that is a copy of Frankie’s and Mama’s, too. “What is all this? Why does Raife have it? Why has he been watching my family?”
Adam runs the backs of his fingers down his jaw, his expression thoughtful. He pulls out his phone and starts on a text. “He thinks he knows something about you, and he’s determined to work it out.”
I chew my lip, curling my arms below my chest. I’ve heard enough of Katerina now to know what he’s referring to. “Well, he’s wrong, you know. He’s searching for a connection that doesn’t exist, and it’s only going to drive him more crazy when he realizes it.”
I’m trying not to let the thought affect me, but I can’t ignore the bundle of nerves tightening in my chest. Not only for myself, but for my sister who’s innocent in all this. I’ve seen Raife’s crazy side. And something tells me that’s only a glimpse of it. I don’t know how much more of him I’ll be able to take.
A shadow flits across Adam’s eyes when he takes in my expression. A second passes, his gaze running along my face, then he rakes a hand through his hair and shoves the file back in Raife’s drawer.
His grip is around my waist before I know what’s happening, and he’s lifting me off the ground so my ass is on the desk. I suck in a breath as he steps between my legs, his body warming mine through our clothes. He slides his hands beneath my dress and cradles my bare thighs, his thumbs stroking small circles over my skin.
“Is Raife your master?” he asks, leaning down so his lips almost graze mine.
“No,” I breathe, my fingers finding his biceps and pulling him closer.
He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth and sucks before releasing it. A shiver ghosts through my body, settling low in my stomach. “Who have you given permission to get under your skin and make you feel?”
My eyes flutter shut. “You.”
A soft growl rumbles through his chest, and his grip digs into my skin. “Have you given Raife the right to own any part of you?”
With a thick swallow, I shake my head. “No.”
His touch disappears from my left thigh, and his fingers tilt my chin up. He brushes his nose against mine so gently I’m sure I’m melting into a puddle right in front of him. Then he slips his hand around my hair and tugs. Hard.
I open my eyes to find him staring down at me, his blue irises burning as deep as the delicious fire he’s dipped my soul in.
“Every emotion you summon or swallow back, every reaction you allow him to pull from you—it’s yours. He owns nothing. He controls nothing. You are yours to give, and yours alone.”
I choke back a wave of emotion that climbs up my throat. Do I really hold so much power? Images from my life flit through my mind—the neglect, anger, desperation, pain—and I’m not so sure. But when his thumb tenderly grazes my lower lip, and he’s looking at me like those are the truest words he’s ever known, I wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe I do hold more power than I thought.
My body slumps against his, and a single tear slides down my cheek.
He inches closer, runs his tongue from the bottom of the tear to my lashes, and a shudder rolls over me. “Not everyone knows what to do when they come across a snowflake in the desert,” he murmurs. “You get to decide”—leaning into my neck, he breathes me in—“who gets to share you. And who doesn’t.”
“You, Adam.” I press my lips to his jaw, wrap my fingers in his hair. “You do. You already have every part of me.”
He leans in and bites down on my neck, making my thighs clench around his body. When he sucks, it’s like he’s trying to take a piece of me with him.
“I know,” he rasps.
When a knock taps on the door, I jump. He pulls back to glance over my shoulder, but he keeps me tight in his grip.
“Did you want me to wait?” Aubrey’s voice filters to my ears, and I wiggle against him so I can look at her.
She winks when she sees me, then returns her attention to Adam.
He holds my gaze for a second, like he’s deciding on an answer, before shaking his head. “No. We don’t have time to wait.”
He steps out from between my legs and pulls me off the desk. As I straighten my dress, I dart my eyes from him to Aubrey. “For what?”
Adam tips his chin toward her. “Aubrey’s taking you to my room. You’re going to stay there for a minute while I find my brother and shut this shit down for good.” I follow after him as he heads toward the exit, and he looks at me once more. “Stay together. And don’t leave my room. Got it?”
Aubrey and I nod our heads in unison.
Just as he leaves, I call, “Adam.”
He stops, looking over his shoulder.
“Why do you put up with him? Raife?”
He cocks a brow. “Because I owe him my life.”
“Lips red as blood, hair black as night,
bring me your heart,
my dear, dear Snow White.”
—Queen Ravenna
(Fourteen years old)
One after the next, strang
led cries escaping through gritted teeth rattle my eardrums. Hatred tears through my bones the longer I watch, but I can’t look away.
I’ve never seen it done like this.
Thin streams of blood slip across Griffin’s broad torso. He flexes under the scalpel as Katerina cuts, swirling her hand and making shallow designs like he’s her fucking sketchpad. My eyes are glued to every tick of the blade, my veins strumming with bursts of energy I don’t understand. The scent of fresh blood and sweat thickens the air, his pulse straining against his neck and his skin flushed, and this—this is how I would do it.
Griffin, he doesn’t deserve it, and every cut only makes hatred seep deeper into my chest. But to do this, to dig into the flesh of those orchestrating this whole shitfest, to watch them suffer through each stroke of the blade and remember every single person who died at their hands . . . I inhale the stench and swallow it down, letting the sensation fill me. Jesus, I’ve never felt anything so satisfying.
“You’re doing well, Griffin,” Katerina coos. “I knew you’d show me everything through your eyes if I connected to your past. I do wish you’d discuss the boys who gave you these scars, but this is emotion enough.” She smiles, her voice sounding distant. “I believe your pieces might just be the most honest of them all by the time I’m done with you.”
She glances over her shoulder at me, the scalpel still rotating in her hands. “What do you think, Pet? Surely yours will be more beautiful?” I narrow my eyes, but she’s already turning back to the other kid. “Yes,” she hums to herself. “My sweet, sweet pet.”
Katerina halts when the door is shoved open.