Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I freeze.
“I killed him already—” he pauses, most likely waiting for my response. Which wants to be murder but I’m trying to be a better person like fuck. “—It was another Family. Hidden in the guise of a priest and his daughter. The priest did the hit and I got him right after. His daughter is still there if you want something, but as far as I last checked, she’s out of the life…”
My mouth snaps closed, nails biting into my palms. I could. I could take this bitch out the same way Nonna was, but that would make me just like Emeric—lost in revenge. I can’t punish her for her father’s sins.
“You’re right,” I whisper, voice cracked. “You really are going to have to let me go.”
Stepping back, I leave the greenhouse and him inside it. I walk back into the house without bothering to scrape the tears off my face. No one will try to stop me from leaving. They’re smarter than that.
Am I pissed about him taking another kill from me? Yes. I have a feeling he’s done it on purpose, during a time of being careful to not trip the wires Emeric placed in my brain, but Aléia met my blade. Her daughter Camille won’t be so lucky. This one can be punished for her mother’s sins.
I wish I could tell Asher the rest of it. That Emeric made sure to steal one last thing from me as a back up. Something that would guarantee he’d never risk spending his life with me if he knew, because every family has to live on.
That much is absolute.
Antiseptic had a distinct smell. It coated the back of my tongue, taking over whatever they pushed into my vein.
A white light burns above me. The metal shade cuts the glare into a hard circle, bleaching the ceiling and the hands moving between my knees. My legs rest in padded stirrups, spread so wide my hips ache. Leather straps cross my ankles. Another pins my waist to the bed.
I try to lift my head.
The room rolls, and bile crawls into my throat.
Aléia stands beside a steel tray in a pale blue gown. Her hair is tucked beneath a cap, and a mask hangs loose below her chin. Blood freckles one glove. She watches the person seated at the foot of the bed, whose face blurs each time I blink.
The drugs smear everything into wet paint.
Parker. It’s fucking Parker—
Emeric waits beside my shoulder in a black suit, untouched by the white tile and stainless steel. He checks his watch while an instrument scrapes deep inside me.
Pain rips through my pelvis.
My back arches against the restraint, and a cry tears out of my mouth. Parker catches my thigh before it slips from the stirrup.
“Hold her,” Aléia says.
A hand clamps around my knee.
“What are you doing?” My tongue feels swollen. Each word drags across my teeth.
Emeric looks down at me.
I reach for him, but my wrist barely lifts from the mattress. A clear tube runs beneath the tape on my arm. The liquid inside it falls one drop at a time.
“Please.” My fingers curl toward his sleeve. “It hurts.”
Aléia places another bloodied instrument on the tray. Metal strikes metal, and my stomach clenches at the sound.
“She needs another dose,” Parker says.
“She needs to remain conscious,” Emeric answers.
A fresh bolt of pain splits through me. I buck against the leather until it bites my skin. Something inside my body pulls, then tears, and sweat runs into my ears.
Get up.
My legs twitch in their restraints.
Fight them.
My hands refuse to close.
Emeric leans over the bed and pats my hair, smoothing it back from my damp forehead.
“It’s okay, you won’t remember this for a long time.” His thumb brushes my temple. “We can’t have you creating more Monét’s or god forbid les amants maudits takes shape and we have a new generation of Delacroix’s. Even if it costs me mine.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
IVY
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Truly, why do we have to do this?” Jord grumbles, clipping his boots back on. “What happened to champagne and rugby?”
“You wanted rugby,” Luce answers, skidding to a stop beside him. “Ivy wanted this. I’ll remind you it’s her birthday, and we’re still fresh out of the doghouse with her, so none of us wants to rock the boat right now.”
“Speak for yourself!” Khloe hollers from the end of the line. “Ivy wasn’t mad at me!”
True, I wasn’t. It’s been six months since everything both fell apart and together. I was mad at my family for a long time, until I understood that they were victims of Emeric’s fuckery too.
I wish I could say forgiving someone else ame that easy. It didn’t. Do I forgive him? Yes. Do I miss him? Yes.
God. So much…
But none of that changes the facts, and the fact is that La Maison du Mal needs to be continued, and if Asher stays with me, he’ll never be able to play his part in the family tree.