Page 50 of Twisted Cage

“Of course I love her, she’s my goddaughter. You just lost three seconds stating the obvious.”

“Nice try,” he says with a mocking laugh he’d never dare aim at me had I not given him this chance to lay it all out in the open.

“You stopped loving her as just a goddaughter in that crypt. I didn’t need to see it to know what happened. You fucked her, and you still want her. But she just as soon put that knife she carries in you than let you get close. The question is why.”

He slides off the stool and downs the rest of his drink. “She’s not the girl she was. You saw what she did to that guy. She’s a killer. Maybe more of a killer than any of us. So now you have her, but to what end? She’ll kill you, or Nikolaj will find out and he’ll kill you, but not before this new war costs lives.”

Without another word, he sets his glass in the sink and heads for the door.

Nailed it in one. Fuck.

The minute he slips out, I hang my head in my hands, drag my fingers through my hair, and turn my gaze to the hallway leading to her.

Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it.

I refill the glass, this time to the rim, planning to get stinking drunk so I don’t cave to my instincts to go in that room. Instead, I head for the sofa. The cushion yields under my weight and I lean back with a sigh.

Exhausted but too keyed up to sleep, I flick the small peg tucked under the upholstery along the arm. The secret compartment I had custom built into the side slides open, revealing a Glock, three spare fully-loaded magazines, and Nikoletta’s diary.

I definitely have my work cut out for me if Faith will be here for any length of time with her babies. They look to be only a few months old, but soon they’ll be crawling, then they’ll be into everything. Which means I have about twenty hidden guns in this place that need to be secured to protect them.

Head swimming with my impending to-do list, I reach for the soft bound journal, but stop just inches away. My ears prick, listening for the sound of water running or the soft muffled sound of feet padding across the floor, any movement, but only a dead silence greets me in return. The chances of Nikoletta coming out here where she knows she'll have to face me are slim to none. Sheer stubbornness alone will keep her sweet ass in that room. So, I take advantage of the last bit of privacy I may have for a long damn time.

Settling back, I turn the lamp up a notch and run my fingers over the cool, supple leather, holding myself back. When I finally open the pages, her will would tease the air. A form of torture I seem to crave.

Whiskey clutched in my hands like a safety blanket, I hold the journal on my thigh and fan the pages. A sick satisfaction fills me every time that rich, bloodred ink flashes by. I’ve been so focused on reading the entries about me that I haven’t noticed the pages with pink hearts until they streak past.

Setting my drink aside, I flip page after page, backtracking, curious what got my Pcholka drawing hearts with such flair.

When I finally find it, my gaze locks on three words that have me going rigid with a swift flood of jealousy.

My first kiss…

I have no right to be jealous. None. I never thought of her like this at the time. I never would have. But fuck if my heart doesn’t despise the three-decade divide between us that means some rites of passage holding a place in her heart will not include me.

With my better judgment off somewhere cavorting with the liquor I’ve consumed, I start reading.

Hey, it’s me again…

Do you know how hard it is to have your first kiss when you're the most guarded teen on the planet? Yeah, well, let me tell you… it means that you have several near misses and then finally, FINALLY, you get the opportunity, but… with your brother’s best friend of all people.

Okay, let’s be real… everyone would freak if they knew. He’s like eight years older than me.

Try ten, you little shit.

Although, if they knew who I’d been crushing on all this time, they'd welcome Logan with open arms.

So, ummm, can we talk about this guy for a minute? Because wow!

Logan Rhodes is the definition of Mister All-American. Gorgeous. Smart. Athletic, and, well, powerful. He’s a member of the secret society Nikolaj joined in college and that alone earned him a good dose of respect, a healthy amount of fear, and a mountain of opportunities beyond what he already had.

But he’s not an asshole about it. He’s quietly observant and understated. Loyal and protective.

Being in this family, constantly imprisoned, you’d think I’d avoid powerful guys, but there’s just something about him. He does everything with confidence, but he’s not so affected by that power. He’s all easy humor and encouragement that makes you feel like you can do anything too.

This was his first time coming to a family event, just to come across me fending off Callum Heath’s wandering hands and his way too eager mouth. I never should have gone to the gardens with him, but for a minute I thought I could just go, get my first kiss out of the way, and move on.

Plus, it was my sweet 16 and Vlad was off on some trip to who knows where. Probably schmoozing on some yacht. I was riding the high of not having to fend Vlad off at every turn. And with how fucked up Vlad is, was it any surprise that I’d miss the signs of Callum being a boner on legs?

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