Page 28 of Red Dreams

I force a chuckle, the sound grating against my throat. “Is that what this is about, Cassie? You want me to prove my love for you by letting you hurt someone else?”

Cassie’s lips twist into a snarl as she straightens. “You’re as much a demon as me, Daddy. You just hide it better than most.”

The fabric of her dress whispers against her legs as she stalks around the table.

“Both of you, eat.” She gestures to the feast. “I want to see you enjoy every bite.”

I cut into the rib eye Harris placed in front of me while going through all the different scenarios to get Layla out of this place, all of them forcing my hand.

Across the table, Layla picks at her food, each movement cautious and measured.

“You know what's funny?” Cassie leans over Layla’s shoulder and traces the rim of Layla’s wineglass. “All those girls down the hall cry for their daddies, too. Just like I used to.” Her features turn vicious. “But their fathers aren't here to save them. Not like you, Daddy.”

The fork bends in my grip. “What girls?”

“My collection. Daughters whose fathers failed them.” She props her hands on her hips. “Want to meet them? Or would you rather watch what I do to your little kitten here next?”

The choice hits me like a physical blow. Protect Layla, or save innocent girls from my daughter's madness.

“You don't have to do this,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“Oh, but I do.” Cassie snaps her fingers, and two more men enter, one carrying a briefcase. “Time to mark what's yours, Daddy. Just like Papa Morelli did me.”

I don’t think. One second, I’m bending a metal fork in my hand, and the next, I’m tossing the table aside, dishes and food scattering as the table slams sideways. Before she canblink in surprise, I grab Layla’s wrist and pull her out of her seat and behind me and stare down my daughter, though any ferociousness I feel isn’t directed at Cassie.

Her men prowl closer, guns raised and directed at my forehead.

“Whatdid he do to you?” I demand.

Cassie steps back, her crimson lips curving into a smile equal parts bitter and triumphant. She lifts her hands to the thin straps of her gown, letting them slide off her shoulders. The fabric pools at her waist, revealing the intricate tattoo that spans her upper chest and cradles her breasts.

It’s grotesque, a tangled collection of scales and thorns that combine to create the sharp maw of a dragon, gaping open to devour the heart that beats in Cassie’s chest.

“Cass…” My voice isn’t my own. I can’t tear my eyes away from what mars her skin.

“He did this to me on my sixteenth birthday,” Cassie says, tracing the edges of the tattoo with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “Held me down while this was carved into my skin, so I'd never forget who I belonged to.”

My blood runs cold, rage and revulsion at war within the red.

Layla makes a small, distressed sound behind me, and I feel her press closer, her slight frame trembling against my back. Cassie's attention snaps to her, carnivorous.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I have something special planned for you,” she says as she pulls her straps back up.

“Cassie, please,” I try, fighting to keep my voice steady. “If you want to punish someone, punish me.”

Cassie laughs. “I intend to. But first, you're going to watch as I mark your little pet. Just like Papa made me watch when he took his other girls.”

She snaps her fingers again, and one of her men lowers his gun and steps forward, the briefcase in his opposite hand. Hesets it on the velvet couch and opens it, revealing a gleaming tattoo gun and an array of inks and needles.

My heart pounds in my ears as Cassie selects the gun and loads it with black ink. She tests the needle against her finger, a bead of blood welling up against her porcelain skin.

I lunge for the closest man and the gun he’s aiming, but another of her goons intercepts me, twisting my arms behind me. He doesn’t think to compromise my legs, though.

In one fluid movement, I hook one of his ankles and force us both sideways until we topple to the ground. Layla takes advantage of the distraction and runs for the nearest lamp, brandishing it before cracking it on top of the guy’s head, laying him out like a stuffed beanbag under me.

Cassietsks, wagging the tattoo gun in admonishment, and I freeze.

“Now, now. Behave, or I'll make this hurt more than it has to.”

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