Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
As abruptly as I began, as quickly, it’s over.
I slam the hammer down beside his mangled hand. When the soldier releases his hold on the belt, Marnix drops to his knees, the arm of the trapped hand stretching. He’s whimpering, still attempting to scream but unable to as he gasps for air.
Odin looks on, fucking witnessing. I don’t know what I expect to see in his eyes or on his face but apart from the green of his complexion, I don’t see fear or anything resembling it. When he meets my eyes, he swallows down that bile and holds my gaze. He knows his father deserved this and probably much more, and I wonder how many times Marnix De Léon has beaten his son—if his limp is because of the asshole now whimpering on the floor.
“Oh, that’s going to be quite the puzzle to piece back together,” Caius says, having come over to examine the mangled hand of the man kneeling on the floor. Marnix’s arm is stretched up, that nail doing its job and keeping it where I told him to put it.
“Let’s go,” I tell him and my soldiers. I’ll leave it to Odin to get the nail out. We walk to the stairs. Caius stops to pick out two dusty bottles of wine.
“I’ve had enough of the party,” Caius says to me once we get upstairs. “These look good. Shall we?”
I nod, and we head toward the elevators that lead to the penthouse apartment. Although as a rule I don’t drink, I make an exception tonight. I drink a bottle of wine with my brother, and I think about the woman in the next room. I think about what could have happened to her… what can still happen to her.
And I decide. Maybe I decided earlier that night, but I know without a doubt in this moment what I need to do. I’ve been wrong before, and my poor judgment cost me. But I wasn’t the one who paid the ultimate price.
“You’re lost in thought, brother,” Caius says.
I drink the last of the wine directly from my bottle and stand at the window, looking at the fog that’s rolled in and at the light from the lighthouse. “I want her out of here tomorrow. She doesn’t go back to that house, doesn’t see her father or her brother. I want her guarded twenty-four-seven.”
“Santos,” he says, coming to me when I stand. He takes my shoulders, turns me to him. This is the problem with not drinking. When I do, it makes everything slower, and it takes a moment for my eyes to focus on him. “The past is not repeating itself. Not with her. Wait the two years. It’s what you agreed.”
I shake my head. “No. Not making that mistake again. Arrange it. You’ll take her.”
“Doesn’t she start school or some shit in a few weeks?”
Art school. Local. I remember. “Fix it. Do what you need to do. I want her out of Avarice. Somewhere no one can find her.”
He studies me, sighs. “All right. Fine.”
I nod, put my hands on his shoulders and think about what Dad told me tonight, how he changed the will. “I love you, brother,” I tell him. That’s going to be another problem for another day.
“Fuck, maybe you shouldn’t drink,” Caius says as he gives me a hug with a pat on my back. “You become a sentimental fool.”
I smile.
“That was intense down there. On point, but intense. You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?”
“Ditto,” I say. He was the one who’d handed me the hammer, after all.
9
Madelena
I must fall asleep at some point, because I wake up when the bedroom door opens. It takes me a minute to remember where I am, what happened. I sit up in the bed, looking around. My shoes are on the floor, along with one stocking, and I’m lying on top of the bed. I have a headache, and my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.
A woman enters, pushing a tray, and I draw the blanket over myself. I smell breakfast. Another two follow her, and I notice they’re all wearing uniforms. Two are housekeepers. The other, room service, maybe? Do they have room service here? I’ve never spent the night, but I guess so. The building is run like a very exclusive hotel.
The two women draw the curtains aside, letting in the bright morning sun. I turn away, feeling like the bride of Dracula as I cover my eyes, then I wipe at the corners of my mouth. A glance at the pillow shows smears of black that have to be eyeliner and mascara. I can imagine what my face looks like.
“What time is it?” I manage hoarsely. There’s no clock on the bedside table, and my phone is in my clutch, which must still be in the other room.