Page 57 of Thrown to the Wolves

I was meant to be the avenging angel, the hand of justice striking down the monster that took my brother from me. Lyssa, with her cold, ruthless reputation as the Styx Syndicate’s infamous “Wolf.” She deserved to pay an eye for an eye, to have her life stripped away as cruelly as she stole Adam’s.

But Lyssa didn’t kill my brother.

And all I’ve done was kill on instruction for the last few years. I’m no better than any of the people I’ve been hunting down.

I’ve dragged an innocent woman, a mother figure to both Lyssa and Hadria, into danger. Made her a pawn in my dangerous game.

Mrs. Graves settles onto a wooden crate without a word of complaint, the picture of steadfast resilience, though she keeps staring at me, watching me. Despite the gloomy shadows distorting the corners of the room, she exudes an aura of calm certainty that seems to mock the anguished storm raging within me.

“Ruby, dear,” she says in a soft, soothing tone. “Why don’t you sit and catch your breath?”

I ignore her, pacing like a caged animal before her. How can she be so unruffled? So at peace when her life is in peril because of the decisions I’ve made, the paths I’ve chosen to walk?

“Ruby—”

“Scarlett,” I mutter.

“I beg your?—”

“My name is Scarlett, not Ruby.”

“I see. Scarlett, then. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Don’t you get it?” I snap, whirling to face her again. “This wasn’t the plan. You weren’t supposed to be involved in this…this nightmare.”

“And yet, here we are,” she replies, her tone carrying no rebuke, only gentle understanding.

“We’re not even supposed to be here,” I say miserably. “I’m supposed to bring you to…” I trail off. I don’t want to scare her more than I already have.

I’m not a monster. I just—I just play one, very convincingly.

Mrs. Graves is quiet for a while as I pace back and forth, but at last she says, “Tell me, Scarlett, what compelled you to bring me here instead of to your…employer?”

The question gives me pause, and I search her placid features, her warm eyes, for any hint of trickery. But I find none, only that same empathetic compassion that likely prompted her to take in Lyssa and Hadria.

And even more strangely, perhaps, I see no judgment or condemnation.

“Please don’t ask me.” I sound like a child to my own ears.

“Now, Scarlett,” she says, in a brisk, no-nonsense tone, “if I’m going to die, I’d like to know the reason. I think you can tell me that much, at least.”

Ouch.

“My parents…” I begin, my voice trembling until I steady it with a fortifying breath. “Grandmother has them. She said if I didn’t do exactly as she commanded without question, if I disobeyed or failed in my mission, she’d…”

I choke on the words, the breath catching in my throat as the horrific image of my parents’ lifeless bodies floods my mind’s eye. The thought of losing them too, of failing them as I failed Adam, is overwhelming. It clouds my vision until all I can see is their vacant stares, accusing me.

“Who is your grandmother?” Mrs. Graves asks, leaning forward. “Scarlett—listen to me.” I stop pacing again and turn to her. “Is she your grandmother involved in organized crime, or?—”

“No! No, she’s…she’s not my grandmother, she’s…” I suck in a breath, and then I find myself sharing…

Everything. Adam’s death. His funeral. The strange, veiled woman who offered me vengeance.

“And so you chose this path,” Mrs. Graves says at last. The gentle rebuke, stated with compassion, still stings like the lash of Grandmother’s whip. But she’s right, of course.

“I chose this,” I say dully.

And I’ve been so consumed by my single-minded pursuit that I lost sight of everything.

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