Page 83 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

I ignore her, reaching into my pocket for my phone. With shaking fingers, I dial. The line picks up on the first ring.

“I have a heart,” I say without preamble.

Damien responds instantly, “We’re coming.”

I hang up. Straightening, I smooth my shirt, then glance at my mother. “I’ll catch up with you later, Mom.”

She says nothing, just watches with knowing eyes as I grab Angie by the hair and yank her to her feet. She screeches, trying to fight me off, but I don’t let go.

“You wanted to play games?” I whisper against her ear. “Let’s see how far that little connection of yours really gets you.”

Then I drag her out the door, kicking and screaming.

26

DAMIEN

The warehouse stinks of blood, gasoline, and fear. Angie sits strapped to a metal chair in the center of the room, trembling, her mascara running in thick streaks down her face. Her once-polished nails claw at the zip ties cutting into her wrists. I bet she thought she'd die an old, rich woman in a king-sized bed with silk sheets. Instead, she’s here—cold steel beneath her, death breathing down her neck.

Vincent’s face looks like it was carved from stone. Cast leans against the table of tools, rolling a cigar between his fingers, green eyes glittering like a cat’s in the dim light. While I pace, knuckles tight, every muscle in my body wired, burning with the kind of fury that could tear a man apart.

This bitch put Willow in a hospital bed.

She thought she could have her killed like it was nothing, like Willow was some obstacle in her path instead of the only goddamn thing keeping Vincent from putting a bullet in his own head. That was her big mistake.

I stop in front of her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at me. "You know why you're here."

Angie swallows hard. “Vince?—”

The slap I deliver is sharp, snapping her head to the side. "No. You don’t get to say his name." I crouch, bringing myself to her level, watching her chest rise and fall in quick, panicked breaths. "You thought this was a game. You thought you could take her out, that you’d still be standing when the dust settled. That was fucking stupid."

Vincent finally moves. He kneels, grabbing a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so she has no choice but to meet his gaze. "You signed your own death warrant the second you put her in danger." His voice is quiet, but it holds a finality that makes her shake harder.

"Please," she whimpers, "I—I was only?—"

"You were only trying to make sure you got to keep your little kingdom?" Cast muses from his spot, exhaling smoke. "Wrong move, reina. Now we get to carve you up and serve you to our queen."

Angie thrashes, the chair rattling, her breath coming in short gasps. "No, no, Vincent, please! I— I raised you!"

Vincent's lip curls. "No, Rosemary Sterling raised me." His grip tightens, yanking her head to the side, exposing the pulse beating frantically in her throat. "You’re just some bitch my father was fucking."

I grab the scalpel from the table and twirl it between my fingers. "Do you know how many ribs we have to break to get to your heart, Angie?" I ask, tilting my head. "Or how much it's going to hurt?"

She screams.

Cast chuckles. "I love it when they scream."

I grip her pinky first, twisting it back with slow, agonizing pressure. The bone resists for a second before it gives with a sharp, wet snap. Angie’s scream rips through the warehouse, bouncing off the concrete walls. Her body jerks, legs kicking out, chair rattling as she thrashes against her restraints. But there's nowhere for her to go.

"Shhh," I mock, tilting my head. "We’re just getting started."

Her breaths come fast, choked sobs spilling from her lips as I move to the next finger. This time, I do it slower. Feel every tremor in her bones, every tiny movement as she realizes exactly what's happening, exactly how much pain she’s about to be in. She whimpers, shaking her head, tears slipping down her face.

“P-please,” she sobs.

I smile. Snap.

She wails, body jerking violently, her forehead slick with sweat.

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