Page 59 of Black Heart

“Do you want to watch while I do?”

Her throat moves with a gulp. Then she seems to blink out of it. “No. Of course not. But isn’t that what you do, as the Scythe?”

“Most of the time,” I confirm, patting down the unconscious man one last time. “But right now, he’s more helpful to us alive than dead.”

Her hand flies to her mouth. There’s a faint tremor to her voice when she asks, “Are you going to torture him?”

I pause. The question sounds almost accusatory. When I turn my head, studying her, I notice that her expression is frightened, but also curious. A morbid fascination with the monster she’s allowed into her bed.

“Yes.”

The barely audible gasp she emits shreds through me like a freshly sharpened blade. If gasps could be translated, hers would say,What would your daughter think of you now?

But that’s impossible. Layla doesn’t know enough about Cassie. No one does, except for me and her killer.

I’m doing this for you, baby girl.

Before Layla can interject further, I turn my attention back to the unconscious man. Abruptly, I flip him onto his back, eliciting a groan as his eyes flutter back to the present.

Using a sterilized blade from my gear, I cut open his jacket and shirt to reveal a tattoo etched on his chest—Morelli’s sigil.

I grip the collar of his scuffed leather jacket with barely restrained fury, lowering my masked face to his. A single bead of sweat drips down my temple and into one eye.

The assassin’s darting gaze steadies, then widens when he realizes who hovers above him.

“I have questions,” I say. “And you’re going to give me answers.”

18

LAYLA

Kaden’s voice is a deathly hiss cutting through the room.

The figure beneath him squirms in a futile attempt to free himself before he sags against the floorboards and spits, “Go to hell.”

Kaden stiffens.

“I’ve been there,” he responds. “I received the economy experience. You should be thankful. Yours is a first-class ticket.”

Despite the clear threat, the assassin’s lips twist into a defiant smirk. Kaden doesn’t seem surprised by the stubborn resistance.

Kaden reaches out, pressing the surgical blade against the skin above Morelli’s sigil tattoo.

A tremor courses through me. What I’m witnessing is far beyond any shady dealings I’ve stumbled upon at work. I clutch the hem of my sweater, struggling to keep my own fear in check as my moral reservations clash with a morbid fascination.

“Listen carefully.” Kaden’s words ring out like anexecutioner’s sentence. “You failed. The girl is under the Scythe’s protection now.”

The assassin’s eyes dart to me, then back to Kaden’s mask.

Kaden digs the edge of the blade deeper into the man’s skin, enough to draw blood. The man beneath him breathes through clenched teeth but says nothing.

A bead of crimson blooms beneath the blade and drips down the man’s torso, staining my bedroom floor. Kaden angles his masked face to watch it spread as if he were observing a curious phenomenon rather than inflicting torture.

He angles the blade, pulling up a piece of skin inked with the tattoo. “Tell Morelli if he wants Layla Verona, he’ll have to come get her himself.”

Now, the man screams through his teeth.

When Kaden relents, a laugh bubbles from the assassin’s throat, wet and clogged.

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