Page 114 of Beloved Sacrifice

“Circumstances prevented it.”

“I see you found her.” Juliette’s gaze slid to Rose and fixed. “Hello, Rose.”

A light came on, and Rose blinked. There were a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They’d been in place the last time she’d been here. The other man with Juliette had found the junction box resting on the floor and flipped on the lights.

Rose looked at Juliette. Her blonde hair fell in perfectly blow-dried waves. She wore a pea coat and jeans tucked into brown leather boots. Devon stood at her side, looking strong and dapper as always.

Though she’d dreaded someday marrying them, she couldn’t help the pang of loss she felt when she looked at them together. They’d been meant to be her trinity.

But instead, Juliette had, just like everyone else, cast her aside as if she were a piece of garbage. The third person with them was tall and slim with dark hair and eyes. This, then, was the person Juliette had chosen for herself.

Choice. Juliette had always had choices. Had control. Had power. Oh, she’d whined like a little bitch about how unfair her life was. How ridiculous it was that she’d been betrothed, but she’d had so many choices. Rose had none.

And Juliette let Christian get away with killing Caden. She condoned it, covered it up. She hadn’t pulled the trigger, but she’d had the power to punish the killer, and she hadn’t.

Caden, who’d loved her but tormented her. Caden, whom she’d wanted to love but couldn’t.

Juliette had Caden killed and then disappeared his body. Because with no body, there was no investigation. No crime. No proof of the murder.

Rose’s whole body flushed cold, as if she’d been suddenly doused in ice water.

“You,” she said in a perfectly flat voice. “You killed him.”

“No. I didn’t.” Juliette had expected the anger. No. Worse than that, she’d anticipated more of the same insanity that had gripped Rose the last time she’d been in these tunnels. It was strange, but for some reason, Juliette thought the crazy woman might have been easier to deal with than this one. Rose was full of rage, anger, her eyes burning holes through Juliette.

“The purists are to blame for what happened to Caden.”

The fucking bitch. Rose didn’t care if Juliette was right. How dare she even say his name. Rose bared her teeth in a snarl and leapt at Juliette. She had a moment of delicious satisfaction, seeing Juliette’s eyes widen in shock. Then she grabbed a handful of blonde hair and yanked.

Devon grabbed her, trying to pull her off of Juliette.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Weston snarled.

Rose gritted her teeth as Juliette slammed a fist into her stomach. She kept ahold of her hair, yanked her down, then raised her knee, catching Juliette in the solar plexus.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw Weston grab Devon, yanking him off of her. There was the heavy thud of fists against flesh.

“Let go of me, you bitch,” Juliette snarled.

Rose hooked her foot behind Juliette’s ankle and yanked, hoping to knock Juliette back and land on top of her, but Juliette twisted in the air and they both landed on the floor, Rose’s knees singing with pain. Rose jumped to her feet. Juliette did the same.

Juliette flipped her hair out of her face, then lunged back toward Rose. Months of stress, rage, loneliness, came roaring to the forefront. She’d found the perfect punching bag, the perfect outlet for her anger.

Rose. Fucking gorgeous Rose.

Devon’s guilt, his tangible remorse since Christian’s trinity had found out some of what Rose and Caden had been through, told Juliette all she needed to know. Devon would have been delighted with their original trinity. Because he loved Rose. He’d always loved Rose. Did that mean he resented her for dissolving the trinity?

Fuck that. Fuck him. And her.

Juliette ignored the tears forming as she grabbed Rose’s blouse, tearing it in the process. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Marek would never be proud of how long it took him to react, but the situation had gone from tense standoff to back-alley brawl faster than he’d known was possible. He looked between the women and the men. Devon had tucked the gun away—thank God—intent on playing fair. He landed a vicious punch to Weston’s right cheek. A sucker punch, considering Weston would have trouble seeing it coming.

That settled it, men first.

Marek jumped forward, shoving his way between then. The other man did something similar, grabbing Devon and hauling him backwards.

“I’m Franco, nice to meet you,” the dark-haired man called out.

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