Page 61 of Twisted Thorns

So here I sit, twirling my pearl-handled knife in my hands, its sides glimmering in the low light of my bedroom.

The knife matches its surroundings. White bedspread, white curtains, white rug. White as far as the eye could see. Everything white and pure and innocent for the O'Neil princess.

Even my attire is fit for the myth that swirls around me, a closet filled with dresses of all shapes and sizes, not a pair of pants in sight.

Father keeps me out of the spotlight, away from prying eyes, letting the rumors twist and choke like thorny vines. A beauty, a prize for any made man, tucked away high in her tower room of the great O'Neil manor.

A monstrosity, more like. Everything is gilded and ornate, as if that will hide the blood and bones it's built on.

And me, always guarded to keep the princess safe. But what they were really doing was trapping a monster.

I'm still swirling in my thoughts, trying to decide on the best course of action, when I hear raised voices and cheering coming from downstairs.

Leaping off my bed, I make my way to the door, looking for shadows and sounds that tell me who is on the other side. I hear nothing.

Frowning, I turn the knob silently and peer through the crack. I see nothing. Dumbfounded, I swing the door open wide, peering first down one side of the hallway and then the other. There's no one there. What the fuck? My door is always guarded.

Stepping back into my room, I grab my gun and quickly wrap my thigh holster on. My dress hides it well enough. Feeling nerves skate up my spine, I tuck a pocket knife into my sock nestled in my ankle boot. Something's not right. I would rather have more weapons on me, but if I'm wrong and get caught with them, I'll be in even more danger, so this will have to do for now.

I creep forward swiftly, moving like the other ghosts that haunt these halls. As I near the stairwell landing, the voices come in more clearly.

"He was spotted with Kieran on the west perimeter. My men lost sight of them, but we know they're here."

"Looks like Calder isn't the only trash we're taking out tonight," my father's voice booms. "But know this, I'll be the one to kill my son, and if any of you try to, I'll fucking kill you."

I stifle a gasp with my fist. Finn. Fuck. I may not care about much, or anything really, except for my baby brother.

My terror is interrupted as a muffled feminine voice emerges from the chaos floating up the stairs.

"I told you to shut it. Was the gag not enough of a hint to keep quiet?" my father fumes.

"Oh, I've something to keep her quiet with," another voice answers.

"All in due time. She's no use as bait if she's broken," my father says as he steps echo towards the front door, the unmistakable sounds of someone being dragged behind him.

I would know, I've been dragged before.

Keeping low, I turn back and tiptoe to my room, hoping the plan I'm hastily building in my mind doesn't fall apart and kill us all.

Chapter 34

Kieran

Panting, I lean against the rough bark of an ancient pine at the treeline, the metallic tang of spent gunpowder still hanging heavy in the night air. Beside me, Cass's breath comes in ragged gasps, the moonlight glinting off her sweat-slicked skin. Liam crouches nearby, his normally mischievous blue eyes now scanning the dark expanse for movement, while Finn's massive form looms like a silent sentinel, his red hair a muted flame in the shadowy woods.

"Everyone alright?" My voice is a low growl, more felt than heard.

"Still kicking," Liam replies with a wry twist of his lips that doesn't reach his eyes. Cass simply nods, her chest heaving as she tries to steady her breathing.

"Good." I eye the O'Neil manor, a fortress of stone and secrets just beyond our temporary sanctuary. "We need to split up. It'll give us a better chance."

"Split up? That's your plan?" Cass's whisper is sharp with adrenaline.

"Trust me," I say, the words an unspoken command as my gaze meets hers, commanding and intense. "It's the only way."

"Alright. Let's do it," Finn says, his deep voice rumbling with the readiness for action that I've come to rely on.

"Take the front, make some noise. Be the storm they're expecting," I instruct them, my tone brooking no argument. "I'll circle around, quiet as death."

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