Page 115 of Beloved Sacrifice

Marek slid his arms around Weston’s shoulders in a standing full nelson. “Marek Lee. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Rose yanked back, leaving part of her shirt in Juliette’s hand. Cold air brushed over her bare stomach.

“I know you’re going to kill me. Because you’re just like every other Grand Master.” Rose wiped blood from her lower lip. “I haven’t forgotten that night you insisted on sitting up with Devon and me, going on and on about all the things you didn’t like about the Trinity Masters. All the things that should be different.” Rose gestured around with one hand. “Yet here we are.”

“You should have told me,” she snarled.

“Told you what?”

“About your parents, about the purists.”

Rose smiled. “The Adamses have spent so many years being blind and dumb that I didn’t think it would do any good. You know now, and what have you done with the information?”

Juliette stiffened, and Rose took advantage of the moment. Instead of a frontal attack, she leapt and then fell into a crouch, kicking out at Juliette’s knee. It was a vicious blow, meant to break the joint, but Juliette managed to twist, taking it on her calf muscle instead.

Juliette took a step back, trying to catch her breath. Pain sang in her leg. The tangy taste of blood told her she had a busted lip and her scalp burned from Rose pulling her hair. She was poised and ready to lunge again, but Franco grabbed her arm before she could move.

“Easy, Jules.”

Her breathing came rapidly, as if she’d run miles. “I wanted to help you. I’m trying to help you,” she spat at Rose. “I asked Marek to find you, save you. Not kill you.”

“Well, you found me. Congratulations,” Rose sneered. Then she rushed at Juliette once more.

If Rose wanted a fight, so be it. She scratched Rose’s cheek in her attempt to get a grip on her hair. The woman was moving too fast, all swinging limbs. Juliette wanted—no, she needed—to land one good, brutal punch to prove to the woman once and for all that she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t some starry-eyed little girl anymore. And Devon was hers.

He was hers.

Weston tried and failed to break Marek’s grip. “Let me go.”

“Calm down.”

Rose and Juliette were still fighting, and it was not a girly fight. They weren’t throwing punches. They were going for soft parts and vulnerable joints. Nasty fighting.

“Help her!” Weston demanded of Marek.

Marek let go of him. At nearly the same time, Franco let go of Devon, who he’d been holding with one arm while trying to calm Juliette with the other.

Weston looked at Devon. Devon Asher. The man who’d been meant to have Rose.

“Do you know what they did to her?” he spat at Devon.

Devon’s face was an expressionless mask.

Weston tried to stay calm but the words came, and with them fresh anger. “They started raping her, beating her, when she was a teenager, to prepare her for you.”

Devon’s mouth opened. “What? Prepare her…”

“For you.”

“No, it was their way of controlling her.”

“You were betrothed to her. It was your job—your right to protect her. And you didn’t.”

Devon’s jaw clenched. “I would have loved her. Taken care of her.” His eyes narrowed. “Them? You mean your parents. She grew up with you. It was your parents who did that to her.”

Devon was right, and if Weston’s long-suppressed jealousy and rage hadn’t been eating away at his insides like an acid, he might have been able to acknowledge that. But he really wanted to punch Devon in the face. Weston lunged.

Before Juliette could land the next blow, Franco interfered, gripping her around the waist, holding her arms against her sides so that she was helpless.

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