Page 62 of Tarnished Reign

“I love it.”

“Come on. Let’s go eat.” She pauses and gives me a cheeky grin, some of her confidence of earlier returning. “And wait for my stepbrother to see you and fall in love.”

She clutches at her heart and falls dramatically backward onto her bed, laughing.

I make a tiny wish that he’ll at least fall into infatuation. Then he will be my protector. My person.

Everybody needs a person. Maybe I can somehow make Dimitri mine.

15

DIMITRI

Dorian is breathing heavily through his mouth. He can’t breathe through his nose because Virgil broke it.

All talk of restraint flew out the window when he saw Dorian smirking like the fucking douche he is, and he went straight for him, punching him twice in the face.

I let him, and then I pulled him back. “I need him alive, remember.”

He shook me off, angrily, but then he nodded and backed off, flexing and unflexing his hands.

Now it’s my turn. I have much gentler but much more creative ways to get someone where I want them. I’ve just about reached that point with Dorian. I can tell from his disorientation and the sweat dripping from his face as if he’s run a marathon.

Psychologically, he’s fucked up. I’ve barely hurt him. Technically, I have hurt him, just nothing like the brute force that Virgil used. Call it death by a thousand cuts instead.

“You get to choose,” I tell him softly. “You’re not going to live, but you get a quick death or an agonizing one. I want to know who the fuck is running these auctions, and how did they get in touch with you?”

He spits blood and glares at me. There’s still a tiny simmering note of defiance there. That won’t do.

When we bought this cabin, I had something very special made in the bowels of the cellar. What used to be an old-style storm shelter has become something so much more. It took a team of men and a special archeological architect to lead the team, but we managed to complete it.

I have only used it once, and then only for about two hours before the prisoner was screaming to be let out and begging to talk. The other times, I’ve only had to show it to people to make them talk.

“Fuck you,” Dorian says.

It’s comical because he almost asks it like a question, as if I should tell him whether going with that reply is his best option.

“Do you know what an oubliette is?” I ask.

“What? Have you gone mad? No.”

I nod. “Most people don’t. You know what a dungeon is, right?”

He manages to drag a defiant smirk from the depths of his dawning terror. “Ooh, you going to put me in your scary dungeon?”

“No. I don’t have one. I do have an oubliette. Want to see it?”

I untie his hands and feet, making quick work of the knots in the thick rope, and then I cuff his hands in front of him. He’s too weak to fight, but just in case. He hasn’t had any food for the last few days he’s been here, only drops of water. Enough to keep him alive but desperately thirsty. I drag him along, and Virgil follows.

Virgil hasn’t seen this. It won’t hurt for Virgil to see just how much of a bastard I am, and what I will do to protect me and mine.

We reach the door to the back room, and I kick it open, dragging Dorian with me.

The far end of the room has the door to the large basement, which has more options for interrogation if I need them. I rarely do. Not when I have my baby.

I stop by the grate and take hold of Dorian’s greasy head, swiveling it down.

“A grate?” He sounds confused, as well he might.

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