Page 47 of Monstrous Grave

I grit my teeth, anger boiling within me in waves, but I can’t do anything with the three men inside the room, staring at me like predators closing in on their prey.

I look over at the woman, trying to find answers in her gaze, but she’s unresponsive—slowly blinking, breathing, hinting that she’s alive. But she’s not here mentally. Fuck this.

The room is unlike any I’ve seen, intimidating with a forge and anvil in the middle, flanked by rows of tools and shelves. Stone walls enclose us, with a fireplace right beside the forge, casting shadows across the walls. A stone desk adorned with shackles sends my heart racing. What kind of place is this?

Beside the desk stands Peter Grimaldi, his posture relaxed yet authoritative, though he eyes the woman with equal parts lust and disgust. It sends shivers down my spine.

I wish I could end their pathetic lives like I killed their associate, but I have to bide my time, find the right moment to end their lives once and for all.

My knees go weak underneath me as I struggle to keep my balance when the two Grimaldi made men hoist me up, and it’s not long before I’m guided toward the office desk. They force my chest down, their grip tightening around my arms.

I clench my fists, snarling at the men like a cornered beast, my muscles straining to get free yet knowing it’s fucking pointless.

“Honestly, it was a mere coincidence you ended up with the Valentis. Didn’t know about it until a year ago when they contacted me, wanting to make a business deal. You in exchange for territory and power,” he spits out, venom dripping from his words.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask him, interrupting him midway.

He clenches his fists out of frustration, grunting at me before saying with indifference, “I killed her.”

Doesn’t surprise me at all. She always was a weak fucker, never standing up for her foster children or herself. She tried so hard to fit into this criminal world, but you have to be a predator yourself to be able to live with one.

From the corner of my eye, I see the woman’s interest pique, head tilting to the side as if tuning in on the conversation. It strikes me how little I know about her.

“After Kaiden died, you were worth nothing anymore. A pathetic, used slut. Don’t you think I found out about the two of you? How you spread your legs for your brother like a whore? I could have gained so much from your virginity, but you just had to fuck your own brother.”

His tirade thunders throughout the room, and I stare at him in disbelief. The rage is palpable in his tense muscles as if he’s on the verge of exploding. Veins bulge in his temples, his face contorted into a mask of fury as his eyes burn with an intensity full of malice.

Meanwhile, my heart constricts with pain at hearing his words, like being hit by a train coming at full speed. Years of unanswered questions about why they threw me out finally gain clarity, and the truth cuts like knives into my chest. He meant to sell my body and my virginity. The mere thought makes me physically sick.

The mention of Kaiden’s death makes that knife twist deeper, mingled with a sense of relief at the realization that Peter doesn’t know about his survival.

A hidden smile hints on my lips that I quickly conceal when he scowls at me, a murderous glint in his eye. “I will mark you until there’s nothing left of you to love. You were once beautiful, worth a fortune, but you won’t be for much longer.”

The woman closes her eyes, unnoticed by the other men, as she flinches slightly. I’m sure she’s suffered through something like this during her month here, and she probably knows what’s coming.

Peter turns around, retrieving an iron poker and thrusting it into the flames of the forge. He strikes the metal with the hammer, causing sparks to fly which reveals the heat of the glowing metal.

Panic grips me in its icy embrace when I intensify my struggles, but the two men overpower me, forcing me to be still as my foster father approaches with the searing iron poker, holding it so close to my face that sweat starts beading on my forehead.

“Stop!” I command, but my protests fall on deaf ears.

I instinctively lean away, but one of the men pushes my head closer to my father.

“This is going to hurt,” he says while his lips stretch into a cruel smirk.

Then, a white-hot pain streaks across my cheek as he brands me with the heated iron. A primal scream rips from my throat at the agonizing brutality, tears gathering in my eyes that I refuse to let fall.

The pain is excruciating, burning and sizzling my flesh until my throat turns hoarse from the force of how loud I scream. The men chuckle sadistically, finding amusement in my misery. I’m on the brink of unconsciousness, my eyes drifting close as I desperately try to escape the unbearable reality.

This is where I die. At the hands of the man who once vowed to destroy my life when he realized I was useless. My heart caves in as I realize he’s not only marked my soul but has now left a permanent scar on my skin, which will serve as a reminder of the man who ruined me.

The agony is so brutal that it threatens to consume me entirely, making me forget everything around me—the men, the woman, even the blacksmith’s chamber. Minutes drag on in which I can’t feel anything, lost in a fog of oblivion where only pain exists. Through the haze, I imagine hearing someone shout for me—Viper. But it’s impossible. He can’t be here, he will never find me, and I will never get the chance to tell him how much I hate and love him simultaneously—an obsession born from the depths of my shattered heart.

A hand muffles my cries, and I’m choking on air, fighting to breathe and scream, but everything blurs together as fatigue overwhelms me. I hear a whisper through the fog, so quiet I can barely make out what it is.

“Arcane.”

Looking up, I find the image of a dangerously alluring man who once stole my heart years ago, never to return it. He stands in all his glory, a beacon of light in the darkness that slowly seeps into my soul. I know this is nothing more than an illusion.

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