Page 29 of Red Dreams

“Stop this,” I snarl at her, grimacing as I come to a stand and step in front of Layla, who’s heaving as she drops the remnants of porcelain in her hand. “I failed you, and I'll regret that until the day I die. But I won't fail Layla, too. I'll die before I let you touch her.”

Cassie's eyes shine with fury, and for one terrible second, I think she might just get rid of the complication and kill me, but then her expression smooths into an icy calm that’s somehow even more terrifying.

Three more men storm inside the suite, dressed in impeccable all-black suits, and head straight for me. I square up, my fists not my first choice for a weapon but effective nonetheless, until Cassie orders, “Hold her,” lazily gesturing at Layla with the tattoo gun.

Two of them seize Layla's arms, dragging her forward despite her desperate struggles. One side of her robe falls open,revealing everything she’s endured up until this point, no part of her skin as flawless as it once was.

I roar and lunge, butfuck, something was in the food. The wine. The room tilts, though I’m aiming straight.

One guy sees his opening and restrains my hands behind my back. I thrash, but his grip is unbreakable as whatever drug Cassie thought up absorbs into my bloodstream. “What did you do? What did you give me?”

“Relax, it’s not poison this time.” Cassie waltzes to Layla, who’s positioned flat on the bed, rose petals and photos scattering as she fights the men holding her down. “Though I still haven’t gotten a thank-you for shooting you up with an antidote before exiting that fun event where I got my prize.”

She trails the tattoo gun along Layla’s exposed collarbone. Layla becomes still and flinches, a whimper escaping her lips.

“Shh, it's okay, kitten,” Cassie croons, brushing Layla's hair aside to expose the graceful curve of her neck. “I'm going to make you so pretty for Daddy.”

She nods to Harris, who lingers near the briefcase and now steps forward. He tilts Layla's chin up with clinical precision. Layla's eyes are wide and glassy as they look for me.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m not leaving you,” I say to her, even as my legs start to give out.

Cassie hums in approval as she studies Layla's throat, the tattoo gun buzzing to life in Harris’s hand.

The needle descends, and Layla cries out as it punctures her delicate skin. A single black line starts at her throat, as precise as the cut of a scalpel. Cassie watches Harris work with rabid fascination, the needle dragging across Layla’s skin in precise, elegant lines.

“See how the ink splits into these delicate little branches?” Cassie says, tracing a finger along the fresh lines, uncaring ofsmearing the blood and ink. “Like veins ... or fracture lines. So fragile. So easy to destroy.”

Layla retches, tears spilling down her cheeks as she tries in vain to pull away.

I strain against the men holding me back, the drug turning my limbs to lead. “Cassie, stop this. I'm begging you.”

“Begging?” She laughs, a jarring sound. “The great Kaden Black, the Scythe, is begging? If only your enemies could see you now.”

She turns her focus back to Layla, head tilting as she examines Harris's progress. The design is taking shape—a series of thin, branching lines that spread like a web from the hollow of Layla's throat. Beautiful in its simplicity. Horrifying in its implication.

“Do you know what this is, Daddy?” Cassie asks, almost conversationally. “It's a map. The exact guide for how and where to slit her throat.”

Adrenaline floods my veins. I willendthe man behind me and all the others in this room before another minute passes.

“I’ve seen it done a few times,” Cassie continues. “Messy work, but I was inspired by the artistry of it. Harris used to be a tattoo artist, you see. Before he came to us. And now sweet Layla will wear it always. A pretty little guide for spilling her blood.”

Layla makes a choked sound, fresh tears spilling over. I feel something fracture inside my chest.

And I finally break.

“You're a monster,” I rasp. “A fucking monster wearing my daughter's face.”

Cassie just laughs again, fingers trailing down Layla’s arm. “Oh, Daddy. You have no idea.”

She leans down, her lips brushing Layla's as she stage-whispers, “When Harris is done, this will be a collar you cannever take off. An eternal reminder etched into your beautiful body. That you belong to him ... and he belongs to me.”

“Eyes on me, Wraithling,” I murmur, refusing to fall to my knees from the drug. “Just look at me.”

Layla latches onto my stare, even as she shakes and weeps under the gun.

“We know the truth, don’t we, kitten?” Cassie says, severing our connection as she smooths back Layla’s damp hair with a mockingly tender touch. “My father’s love comes with a death sentence.”

11

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