You Will Break

by Michaels, Ember

  "Are you coming, or are you going to keep standing there?"

  I looked down at my bare feet, wiggling my toes and keeping my gaze down. "I...don't have shoes on," I said, my voice shaky.

  Bennett put his hands in his pockets. "Then I guess we'll have to go buy you some," he said, walking over to me.

  I took a step back as he advanced, that familiar fear creeping over me when he reached for me. He paused when I flinched, hesitation filling his eyes for a moment before he scooped me into his arms and carried me to the Audi.

  My heart hammered in my chest when he closed the passenger door and walked around the front of the car to get into the driver's side. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text message before starting the car and driving out of the garage. I glanced in my side mirror, not seeing any other cars following behind us.

  "You'll be fine," he said, as if reading my mind.

  I settled into my seat in silence, focusing my attention to the passing scenery outside the window while praying no one ambushed us while we were out alone.

  Bennett pulled up to a shopping center nearly thirty minutes later. I didn't dare move when he got out of the car, watching him as he walked over to the passenger side and opened my door.

  Affluent people walked along the sidewalk with shopping bags, living a normal life while talking on their cell phones or to the people they shopped with. I felt so out of place being amongst the normal living, probably because I felt so dead inside.

  Bennett looked at me expectantly as he held his hand out to me.

  Taking a shaky breath, I put my hand in his and allowed him to pull me out of the car before scooping me into his arms again. I kept my eyes lowered as he carried me into a nail salon. The only people in there were two employees.

  "Good to see you again, Mr. Moreno," one of them with chestnut hair said as Bennett put me on my feet. She walked over and gave him air kisses on both cheeks, and he returned the gesture before waving to the younger girl standing next to a pedicure chair.

  "Doing okay, Sam?" he asked.

  She smiled and nodded. "Thanks for helping my mom with my tuition for this semester. I would've called, but you don't really leave a way for us to contact you," she replied.

  I shuffled my weight from foot to foot, the cold tiled floor raising goosebumps on my skin. Bennett gestured to me.

  "This is Aurora. She needs a manicure, pedicure, hair, and makeup for a meeting tonight," he said.

  The woman nodded and finally moved over to me, taking my hands in hers.

  "It's nice to meet you, Aurora. I'm Bethany and that's my daughter, Samantha," she said, gesturing to the younger woman.

  I gave her a small smile, but didn't verbally respond, dropping my eyes back to the floor.

  "She hasn't been very talkative lately," Bennett said.

  Bethany gave me a sympathetic smile and rubbed my hands. "That's quite all right," she said. "Well, let's get you looking pretty for the meeting tonight."

  Bennett nodded. "I'll be right next door to find her a pair of sandals," he said and looked to me. "You're in good hands. I'll be right back."

  I nodded, listening as his dress shoes clicked against the tiled floor. When the bell over the door chimed as he exited, I let out a small sigh of relief. Bethany led me over to the pedicure chair, where her daughter ran water into the bowl.

  "Do you have a particular color in mind, pretty lady?" Bethany asked.

  No color would make me feel less dead inside. I wanted something that reflected how empty I'd felt since leaving the Retribution room, how vulnerable I felt with my mental health on shaky ground.

  "Blood red," I murmured.

  It was the only thing that reflected how I felt, that described the void that filled me and the darkness that whispered sweet nothings in my ear. The darkness dreamed of bathing in a shower of blood and relished in the desire of robbing someone of their life, but that darkness was also trapped. It wasn't like I could kill Bennett any time soon.

  "What a sassy color," Bethany exclaimed with a grin before rushing off to the rack of nail polish on the wall.

  Her daughter looked at me. "Would you like to wear a wig? Or would you feel more comfortable without one?" she asked. "I don't know if your hair was cut intentionally or not, so I figured I'd ask."

  "A wig, please," I murmured.

  "Any particular color?" she asked.

  "It's time to initiate the plan," my alter ego whispered.

  What plan?

  "The one to destroy Bennett, duh. Where the hell have you been?" she scolded. I ground my teeth, fighting to keep my face neutral as Sam looked at me expectantly. "Choose a blonde wig and have them curl it."

  But Stephanie's hair was—

  "Exactly."

  "Aurora?" Sam asked with a raised brow.

  I cleared my throat and gave her a small smile. "Blonde is fine," I answered.

  I wasn't sure if this plan my alter ego had up her sleeve would work, but I hoped it didn't backfire on me when Bennett saw the final result.

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  BENNETT

  Aurora was going to be the fucking death of me.

  It didn't go unnoticed that she chose a blonde wig when getting her hair done. I'd done a good job in masking my reaction when I initially saw her, simply telling her that it was a nice color on her. But after she got dressed for the appointment and Bruce escorted her down the stairs, I could've sworn I saw Stephanie for a minute. I ground my teeth, pushing the mental images of her to the back of my mind. Now wasn't the time to be distracted. The only reason I was bringing her tonight was to put Hank at ease as well as see if murder could get some kind of reaction out of her. She was still going through the motions of everything like a mindless zombie, only speaking when she was spoken to—granted that she even answered in the first place.

  She wore a blood red silk wrap dress that stopped in the middle of her thighs with black stilettos that accentuated her calves. Her hair was curled and hanging a little below her shoulders. She still refused to look at me, which frustrated me to no end. Aside from her hardly talking, she wouldn't look at me unless I told her to or unless she wanted to steal a glance. Otherwise, she'd look past me or keep her gaze glued to the floor. I made a mental note to call the doctor in the morning to ask him if there was something I should be doing to help her, because if I were being honest, I wasn't too sure how to snap her out of the mental block she'd put up to protect herself in order to mold her into what I needed her to be.

  When she reached me, she mindlessly looped her arm through mine and we made our way to the car. Our driver waited outside as Bruce, Saint, and Nyxin got into one of the SUVs.

  "We'll meet you there?" Bruce asked before getting into the truck. I nodded as I walked over to our driver, who already had the door open for Aurora. I walked around to the other side once she'd slid onto the seat, getting in and settling down next to her. She looked absolutely sinful tonight, just as she did the last time she was dressed up.

  I looked down at her nails to see that they were the same color as her dress. My chest tightened at the thought of Stephanie and how she'd always have her nails painted that color since it was my favorite color.

  "Did they choose that color for you?" I asked her, slicing through the uncomfortable silence between us.

  "No, sir," she murmured.

  "So you chose it yourself? I didn't take you to be someone who liked colors that dark," I mused. She was silent for a moment before she finally spoke.

  "I figured it was your favorite," she said, her tone returning to the flat, robotic manner she'd started speaking in.

  I raised an eyebrow as I looked to her. There were only a couple of people who knew what my favorite color was, one of them being dead and the other one forbidden from being around Aurora.

  "Who told you that was my favorite color?" I asked.

  She dropped her gaze to her hands and shook her head. "No one."

  I studied her for a whi
le. So much had changed with her since she left the Retribution room. Even last night when I'd had sex with her, she didn't make a single sound, nor did she come. There wasn't a time that she didn't moan when I touched her to give her pleasure, and it was frustrating as fuck that she said nothing. She only stared at the ceiling, her eyes blank as I tried to elicit something from her—a whimper, a groan, a moan, her telling me to stop. It was like fucking a warm sex doll, a lifeless corpse that wasn't quite dead yet.

  It wasn't like her body didn't respond to me as it usually did. Her hips rolled with each flicker of my tongue, her walls squeezed my cock as they usually did when she was close to coming. But it never happened, and she never said a single word no matter how many times I asked for it.

  I shook the distracting thoughts from my mind. There were more important matters that I needed to focus on, mostly about the death sentence I was about to hand down to Hank Mercy. Other than watching Aurora, his death had been the main thing on my mind ever since I'd spoke to him to. Nightfall couldn't come fast enough, my mind racing with the multiple things I wanted to do to him. I knew I wanted him to suffer, which wouldn't be hard considering his cancer status. I glanced over to Aurora, who stared out the window with a blank expression on her face. If tonight couldn't get some kind of reaction out of her, she may worse off than I originally predicted she'd be.

  It didn't take long for us to pull up to the club, the driver taking us to the back entrance. I stepped out of the car, the night air cool. Joseph scurried out of the car to rush over to Aurora's door, opening it and extending his hand to her. She took it and gave him a small smile before focusing her gaze on the pavement. I bit back the twinge of jealousy. I knew it would take time to get her molded into what I wanted her to be as well as getting back to normal, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect me that she gave others what she wouldn't give to me. She spoke to Giselle in the voice that I remembered her having, not the flat, robotic tone she used when answering me. She smiled at Bethany and Joseph, but couldn't even look at me. Now isn't the time for that, I reminded myself as I walked over to her and took her hand. I'd get her to open up to me in due time. This phase of her transformation would just take more patience than I originally anticipated.

  Bruce pulled up with the other guys a few seconds later. I nodded to him when we made eye contact, signaling for him to bring the supplies inside. We still had thirty minutes to spare before Hank was due to arrive. As well as bringing in the weapons, we needed to set up the room as if it were for an actual meeting. I wouldn't be surprised if he brought a gun along with him considering how paranoid he was when I first met up with him, so precautions needed to be made, especially with Aurora here.

  I led her inside, guiding her to the basement room we'd be in. I gestured toward the wooden chair on the other side of the room. "Grab a seat over there, Steph," I said idly as I pulled off my suit jacket. "We'll be here for a good minute." When she didn't move, I looked at her and frowned. "Did you not hear what I said?"

  "My name is Aurora," she said, her voice flat. Despite the flat tone of her voice, something sinister sparkled in her eyes.

  “Obviously. Isn't that what I said?"

  "You called me Steph," she replied. "I'm not Stephanie."

  Fuck. I'd been so concerned about Aurora losing it that I wasn't even thinking about the fact that I could very well be losing it, too. I hadn't even realized I'd called her that, Stephanie's name falling from my lips so effortlessly. It didn't help that Aurora was dressed in way that reminded me so much of her. Aurora stared at me, which had been the longest she'd looked at me since we'd left the Retribution room. It was almost as if there was a hint of a smile on her lips, but it disappeared as quickly as I thought it'd been there.

  I sighed. "Just sit down," I mumbled, turning away from her. Get your shit together, Moreno, I scolded myself, focusing on getting the room prepared for Hank.

  Bruce, Nyxin, and Saint all walked into the room with supplies. We worked on setting up the weapons in the darkened part of the basement and rearranged the stored chairs and table on the other side of the basement, giving the illusion of a meeting taking place. I checked my watch just as someone knocked on the door. It was ten on the dot. At least the man was punctual.

  Saint opened the door, nodding to Hank as he entered. He looked nervous when he saw Nyxin and Bruce, relaxing a bit when he saw me sitting at the table.

  "Moreno," he said.

  I gestured to the seat across the table across from me. "Have a seat," I said, reaching for my glass of Bourbon. "Bourbon?"

  "Sure," he said, sitting down across from me. I looked to Bruce and nodded, watching as he swiped the Bourbon I'd poured in my glass to the alcohol spiked with crushed morphine pills. He walked over and placed a glass in front of Hank and poured it halfway. I hid my grin behind my glass as I watched Hank guzzle the alcohol down and ask for another pour. Bruce filled Hank's glass again, looking at me with a hint of a smirk on his lips as he stepped away from the table.

  "Thanks for meeting with me," I started, putting my glass down. Hank took another gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he nodded.

  "Yeah, so what do you want to know? Your father has done a lot of fucked up shit in the past," he started.

  "Whatever you want to tell me that'll help me figure out what angle I can hit him in. But I have a question though; why is my father after you if he let you go due to your health?"

  He leaned back in his seat and ran a hand down his face, sighing deeply. "There was a girl snooping around asking questions. She'd come to me trying to get answers, but I didn't talk to her. Renae let her into the house, so I guess whoever was following the girl must've thought I'd given her info on Wilson."

  He must be talking about Brittany, I mused before taking another sip from my glass. "Did you give her any information?" I asked.

  He scoffed. "Hell no. There's nothing your father hates more than a snitch," he said, shaking his head. "I told her to get the hell out of my house and if she came back, she'd meet my gun. But the next day, I go out to get the mail and there's a fucking box on my doorstep with a fucking heart in it. I don't know if it was a human heart or animal heart, but I recognized that fucking letterhead in the box that had a concealed threat on it. So I've been cautious ever since."

  I slowly nodded. "I see. Were there ever any wars while you worked for him?"

  He reached for his glass and took another gulp from it. "Just one."

  "What did he do with his top hitmen if they were targets?" I asked. I needed to figure out how to get David Clemmons. With everything KC looked into, it showed that he wasn't local wherever he was. I was anxious to get to him, anxious to avenge the death of my lover and unborn child that he'd stolen from me.

  "Your father sent us out of the country," he said. "Always told us that we were too valuable to lose despite the fact that we were the best at protecting him."

  "Any particular place?"

  "Depending on who they were and where they wanted to go, he'd either send them to the islands or Paris. He only sent his higher up men to Paris, as they stayed in the penthouses he owned there until things cooled off in the States."

  "And what islands?"

  Hank rubbed his face, his eyes rapidly blinking as he struggled to focus on me. "Uh...the uh...Bora Bora I think," he said. Beads of sweat formed on his skin as he started coughing, panting for air.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you okay?" I asked. But I knew he was far from okay. The pills I'd put in his drink didn't mix too well with alcohol, and it was now taking effect.

  He put his hand on his forehead. "I don't know. I think I might've had too much to drink or something." He moved to stand up but stumbled, falling to one knee. "Maybe we should...continue this another...time."

  "Well, not so fast," I said as I rose from my seat. "There's still one more thing I wanted to ask you about really fast." I nodded to the guys, who stood near the door and they all got into position. "I wanted to talk
about when you murdered my mother."

  He coughed and coughed as he struggled to stand, the room probably spinning around him. "What the fuck...did you...put...in my...drink?" he asked, panting for breath in between coughing.

  "Just a little morphine," I said and looked to the guys. "Put him back in the chair and cuff him."

  The guys worked quickly to get Hank off the floor and back into the chair, handcuffing his hands behind him. Hank lazily jerked against the handcuffs, his head lolling from side to side as he looked at me. I walked around the table and moved to stand in front of him, leaning against the table.

  “Did you think it was a coincidence that I found you?” I asked. He grumbled something incoherently, drooling on himself as his head lolled around. “I found you because your name was on my mother’s contract as her bounty hunter. Do you remember killing Wilson’s wife?”

  “Fuck you…and her,” he spat, spitting at my feet. I punched him in his jaw, unrestrained anger crashing into me. Bruce wheeled over the table with the assortment of weapons, ranging from knives, an ice pick, pliers, a scalpel, and a hammer. I walked around Hank and over to the table as Hank hurled slurred insults and promises to kill me if I let him out of the cuffs. I grabbed the ice pick and stalked over to him until I stood behind him.

  He yelled out in pain when I stabbed him in the ribs with the ice pick, hopefully puncturing his lung I intended. I glanced over to Aurora, who was now standing and staring at Hank with a dark glisten in her eyes. Her face was still blank of emotion, but her eyes said what she wouldn’t. My dark princess was slowly budding and it was only a matter of time before she finally free herself.

  I stabbed him higher up in the ribs on the same side and watched as he gasped for air, struggling to breathe.

  “Your last name is ironic,” I said as he wheezed. “Did you show any of your victims mercy before you killed them, specifically my mother?”

  He could respond, as it took too much effort to talk when he couldn’t already breathe. I walked over to the other side, his eyes following me before he started to cough up blood. Just when I raised my hand to puncture his other lung, something stopped me in my tracks.