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)
“Do you understand?” I repeat.
She nods once.
“Good. Don’t forget it.”
The instant I release her, she runs from the room. I wipe the blood off my hand with a handkerchief Caius hands me as our attorneys collect the contract, briefcases snapping shut. My father gives me an approving nod and leads the way out. Our footsteps echo as we make our way toward the front door of the De Léon mansion, but before we reach it, something draws my gaze. It’s an irresistible pull and when I glance over my shoulder, I see Madelena standing at the top of the stairs, nursing her bleeding hand. Her eyes are locked on me and if looks could kill, I’d be dead.
I give her an infinitesimal nod and I swear her eyes narrow.
At least she’ll be safe for now. From me, for the next five years. From my family. From her own. Trading the house of one monster for the house of another.
But destiny is destiny. Fate is fate.
The Augustines have waited a long time for the scales to be leveled… for fate to finally give us our due. Each of us must fulfill our part as it is written—whether we like it or not.
Madelena De Léon’s destiny is sealed. She is to pay what is due.
And my destiny is clear. I am to ensure that payment is collected in full. No matter the cost.
2
Madelena
I watch the bastards walk out of the study. Odin told me to stay in my room, but it’s not like that would have changed anything. I knew what my father had agreed to in order to save his neck. I’m pretty good at being invisible, lurking in shadows and listening. It’s easy with my father because he wishes I was invisible. Wishes I’d never been born.
He’s another bastard just like them. Worse, if he can sell his own flesh and blood and on this day of all days. We buried my uncle, Jax Donovan, today. He was my mom’s brother and the last link to her.
Santos Augustine stops on his way out. As if what we just did—that shared spilling of blood—somehow bound us, creating an invisible tether between us. He turns and looks up at where I am lurking in the shadows of the second-floor landing. His eyes meet mine. Even at this distance, they send a shiver along my spine.
I narrow mine and send all the hate I can muster his way because maybe he can see what’s inside of me too.
“You belong to me now… Don’t forget it.”
What the fuck does that even mean? I’m fifteen. He’s ten years older than me. What can he do to me? Nothing. That’s what.
We stare at each other for a long minute before he gives me an almost imperceptible nod and what I swear is a smirk before he and his family walk out of my sight. Out of our house.
My brother appears at the bottom of the stairs. He pauses to look up at me, and I see his face contort with pain as he begins to climb. My father glances at us, then disappears back into his study. He can rot there for all I care.
“I told you to stay upstairs,” Odin says, taking my hand. The handkerchief is sticky with blood, but he peels it away. I suck in a breath. “He didn’t have to be so fucking brutal about it.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
“Let’s go get this bandaged up.” He looks at me with that pitying expression. Why, I don’t know. He’s the one with the fucking limp.
My eyes fill up. It’s bad this time. He’s never limped before.
“Are you okay?” I ask him as we walk through my bedroom into the bathroom we share. It’s a jack-and-jill. The second bedroom wasn’t supposed to be Odin’s, but he’s been there for as long as I can remember.
“I’m not the one with a cut in my hand. Sit.”
I perch on the edge of the tub while he rummages beneath the sink for the first-aid kit. Once he has it, he sits on the closed toilet seat and drops the handkerchief into the trash can. He proceeds to clean the cut. It stings, but I hold my breath and don’t make a sound, watching him work as he carefully bandages it.
Once he’s finished, he throws away the cotton swabs and washes his hands. “It’ll probably scar. I’ll see if I can get you a cream.”
“I don’t care about a scar,” I tell him, watching blood stain the bandage. It hurts. But weirdly, it gives me something to focus on.
Something to time my breath to.
You can feel your heart beat to the throbbing of pain like this. It’s a strange sensation. Grounding in a way.
“Here,” Odin says, taking two aspirin from a bottle in the cabinet and holding them out to me.