Page 40 of Red Dreams

“That bastard stole you from me. Twisted you into this?—”

“Bitch?” Cassie finishes for him. “No, Daddy dearest. He made me strong. Powerful. He had fucked-up ways of getting me there, but here I am.”

“Morelli was a sadistic bastard who destroys everything he touches,” Kaden growls. “But even he can’t erase the truth of who you are, Cassie. Defiance is in your blood. My blood. You’re stronger than his depraved manipulations.”

If Cassie is affected by Kaden’s declaration, we don’t see it. She gives us her profile and traces the knife along Ethan's jawline, leaving a thin line of crimson in its wake. Ethan squeezes his eyes shut, a single tear escaping down his cheek.

“Cassie, please,” I beg, my lower lip trembling.

She presses the knife harder against Ethan's throat, eliciting a choked gasp from him. “Now, kitten is going to prove her loyalty. To me. To the Morelli name.”

Desperation and terror rip through me. I can’t hurt Kaden. I won’t. But Ethan … oh God, my sweet, brilliant friend who only ever wanted to keep me safe. I can’t let Ethan die.

“Clock's ticking, kitten. Either you make Daddy bleed or this room gets an instant makeover.”

Kaden's hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through my own.

“Layla,” he says softly. “It's okay. Do what you have to do.”

I shake my head, then bury my face in his chest. “I can't. I won't.”

He brings our joined hands closer to his heart. “You can, and you will.” Kaden uses his free hand to tip my chin up until our gazes meet. “I can take it, Wraithling. I promise.”

A sob catches in my throat. I know what he’s doing and why he’s accepting Cassie’s demands. My neck still throbs from the tattoo I received while being pinned down, and Kaden was forced to look on. I’d wager it was the first time in a very long time that Kaden felt helpless. To endure punishment, especially coming from me, is exactly the type of situation he feels he deserves because he couldn’t save me. His own flesh and blood has locked us in this room of horrors, and he still can’t save me.

But he is not the villain. Not in my story.

“Layla.” Kaden stops my line of thought as if he can sense my direction. “You know what you have to do.”

“You don’t deserve this.” I look back at him and into those coolblue eyes, finding the warm pools within. “I don’t blame you for any of this, do you understand?”

Kaden’s eyelids lower.

The sob I’ve been choking on finally climbs out. “Kaden, no. Even if I agree to this, there’s nothing here. This room is stripped of anything I could use.”

“That’s the fun part!”

Cassie’s unsettling cheer interrupts the moment.

“After all,” she continues, “necessity is the mother of invention.”

Not only do I have to hurt Kaden but I also have to find a makeshift weapon? Cassandra Grace Black, or whatever the hellher name is now, has backed me into a corner in the same way so many reluctant fathers were. And I feel the same way they did. I’m starting tohateher. To change who I am inside.

My gaze darts around the room, searching for anything I could use to inflict enough pain without causing lasting damage. The thought of harming Kaden makes me want to heave, but I can’t let Ethan die.

“The mirror,” Kaden says quietly, tilting his head toward the bathroom. “Break it.”

Understanding dawns, cold and heavy in my gut.

Reluctantly, Kaden releases his hold on me so I can approach the bathroom. Once inside, I stand in front of the mirror. My reflection stares back—pale, bruised, and haunted.

Until I zero in on the neck tattoo.

Pitch-black vines and thorns snake across my neck, growing wider in the front and thinning out at the sides, just like a slashed throat. No leaves adorn the barren limbs, and the vines stretch out into fractured pathways, some tangling low over my throat. But knowing what I do now about Cassie’s men and how she acquired most of them, Harris offered beauty where he could. Small black flowers along the thinner branches, using shading and lighting for wisps of fog, and the tiny wings of birds flitting among the thorns.

The inked skin is swollen and red at the edges and angry from not being cared for. The tattoo took endless hours of pain to become this creation. It also stole a piece of me I can never get back. I’ve always been different with my blue and brown eye, but this.Thisisn’t something I was born with. This was placed on me, forced on me, and is a permanent mark of hate.

It's not just the tattoo but everything it represents—the violation, the helplessness, and the sheer cruelty of what's been done to me and so many others.

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