Page 46 of The Beautiful Dead

A pit formed in my stomach. Dread licked up my spine, cold and insidious.

“Remi,” he said, his voice quieter now, steady and commanding. “Look at me.”

I blinked up at him. The garage blurred at the edges, the world narrowing to the space between us. His fingers curled under my chin, tipping my head back, his touch searing despite its tenderness.

“Trust me.”

He was a killer. A weapon forged from flesh and bone. My brain screamed at me to remember that, to understand what he was capable of. But maybe I was broken—wired wrong—because without hesitation, I whispered, “Yes.”

I swung my leg over the bike, settling behind him. He took the helmet from my hands and secured it, talking me through the communication system. His voice was smooth and unhurried, but beneath it was something coiled tight, waiting to be unleashed. The engine roared to life beneath us, vibrations rattling through my bones, setting my teeth on edge.

Then we moved. Faster than I was ready for.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon sound and darkness. Domino weaved through traffic like the laws of physics didn’t apply to him, like he was playing a game only he knew the rules to. I lost track of the turns, of the passage of time. I couldn’t tell which way was up, where I was, or why I was here.

It felt like I’d been plucked from obscurity and handed to the devil, and instead of running, I clung to him.

There was something intoxicating about him, the way darkness clung to his skin like a second shadow. He was a man who commanded his demons rather than feared them, leashing them only so he could set them free when he chose. I had seen him kill, had watched the way he moved—precise, unhurried, merciless. Blood-slicked golden skin haunted my dreams, seeped into my veins, and poisoned me in the most delicious way.

He had unlocked something in me. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight anymore.

Then suddenly, we dropped, like we’d fallen off the edge of the world. My stomach lurched, and the air turned thick, damp and cold. The engine cut off, leaving behind only the echo of our arrival. Domino pulled my helmet off, and the darkness swallowed us whole.

The massive space was ominous, the walls seemed to stretch endlessly beyond the reach of dim, flickering bulbs. The scent of damp earth and rusted metal filled my nose. Something about it felt… alive. I exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest.

Domino turned to me, his face half-shadowed, unreadable. “Come.”

I followed without question. The passage narrowed as we walked, the sound of our footsteps swallowed by the oppressive quiet. Eventually, the walls opened up again, and I stepped into a room that sent searing ice crawling through my veins.

A man sat bound to a chair in the center of the space, naked, his body mottled with bruises and smeared with blood. His head hung low, strands of damp hair clinging to his face, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. The scent of copper was thick in the air, mingling with sweat and fear.

The world tilted. I should have recoiled. Should have felt horror clawing at my throat. But all I felt was a pull—deep, insatiable, undeniable. Domino stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and the man whimpered, barely audible.

“This,” he murmured, tilting his head as if admiring a piece of art. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

I swallowed, my pulse hammering.

His eyes found mine, burning with something dark, something wicked. “I see you, Remi,” he whispered.

And God help me—I wanted everything he had to offer. I felt like a snake shedding my skin and growing into a new one.

“There’s a selection of tools on the bench over there; select what you want then come back to me,piccolo agnello.”

Domino circled him like a predator, his steps slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. He was patient. This wasn’t about rage—not yet. It was about control. He tipped the man’s head back, his face was swollen, one eye forced shut, his lip split wide open.

I quickly grabbed a small butterfly blade from the wide selection of blood stained instruments and stood beside Domino. My fingers tingled, and the knife in my grip felt like an extension of my hand rather than an object.

“You thought you could take from me, didn’t you, Calloway?” Domino’s voice was smooth, dark silk stretched over steel. “Thought I’d let it slide. It was only a small indiscretion, wasn’t it?”

Calloway made a choked noise, his head lolling forward. Sweat slicked his brow, strands of dirty hair sticking to his face.

“Six of my men are rotting in a cage because you paid off the police and gave them the details of my shipment.” Domino crouched in front of him, gripping his jaw and forcing him to look up. His fingers dug into Calloway’s cheeks, making hisalready battered flesh strain. “I wonder… Do you have any idea what that cost you?”

The man wheezed, a pathetic, broken sound. His body vibrated with fear, even though he refused to rise to Domino’s taunting words, his lips stayed sealed shut like steel doors.

Domino chuckled, dark and quiet. “You will. No one is coming to save you. You’re expendable to the Gallos…”

Then, he looked at me. The room shrank, the edges of the world narrowing until there was nothing but the weight of his gaze. The question in his eyes was silent but deafening.

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