Page 75 of The Beautiful Dead

“Print everything you’ve got,” I said, tension knotting in my gut. “I’ll tell him.”

Ghost’s gaze burned into me, assessing, dissecting. “Let me know, because I do not want to be collateral damage.”

I snorted. Everyone feared Domino—even those closest to him. But something dark and twisted pulsed inside me. I was different. I didn’t fear him. The dread in Ghost’s eyes only made me smirk.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he muttered as more files flickered onto the screen.

A hollow laugh rumbled in my chest. “I’ll light the match and stand by him when he burns it all to the ground.”

Brielle was breaking.Crumbling under the weight of her fear. And when I finally revealed myself, I saw it—the hollow look in her eyes, the paranoia twisting her features.

The deserted parking garage set the perfect stage. Rain pounded the pavement, broken streetlights flickered, casting eerie glows between the abandoned cars. The wind howled, cutting through the concrete pillars.

I perched on the hood of her car, watching. Listening.

Her heels clicked, sharp against the concrete. Every few steps, she glanced over her shoulder. The sound of glass bottles rolling somewhere in the dark made her flinch.

Tension hummed between us.

My fingers traced over the broken seams of my jeans, counting the beats of my heart as she neared. A slow, sickening countdown.

I raised my head as she approached. A sinister smile curved my lips, my tongue over my top teeth when she saw me.

A flicker of terror. Her breath hitched. Her body locked up for half a second before she masked it, rolling back her shoulders, narrowing her eyes.

“What the fuck do you want, Remi?”

I huffed a laugh, rolling my eyes.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, debating between her phone and the gun she thought would save her. But she was all front—nothing of substance existed beneath her skin. I knew that now.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Her sneer was ugly. “You think you’re in control?” she spat.

I examined my painted black nails, feigning boredom.

“You think he loves you? You’re a pet, Remi. A fucking trophy. And when he’s bored, he’ll throw you away like the rest.”

I tilted my head and smiled. “Takes one to know one. Where’s Federico, mm?”

Her breath stuttered. Eyes widened. But before she could run—before she could even scream—Domino was behind her. The rag covered her face in an instant. A sharp, sickly-sweet scent filled the air.

It pulled a panicked gasp from her throat, and recognition flashed in her eyes. She struggled, but she was already weak, already broken down by sleepless nights and fear that had been eating her alive from the inside.

She went limp in his arms. I grabbed her legs, and together, we folded her into the trunk of the SUV.

And then—we took her.

Brielle woke up surrounded by suffocating, never-ending darkness. Her wrists were crudely bound behind her back, shoes missing, clothes torn and damp from the light rain that still fell.

The silence stretched, and there was no sound beyond her ragged, uneven breathing. The air was thick and damp, the scent of pine and earth heavy around us.

She was alone.

Or so she thought.

I let her panic bloom, let her mind spiral. I savored the way her breaths turned sharp and frantic, the way her fingers flexed against the restraints.

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