Page 179 of Ink Deep Devotion

“If I weren’t an evil bastard, I would tell you that we can stop this search. I’d let her go.” I whisper as I open my fingers, then close them, relishing in the small clang of our rings hitting.

“If you were an evil bastard, you would never have searched in the first place. You would have just replaced her.”

I’m happy Damian isn’t here because he would see through my words.“I need to find her, Titan.”

“We will.”

I shake my head. It hurts so bad to breathe.“I don’t think you understand. I need her. She’s the only thing that…” It feels like I’m pushing chains out of my lungs. Each exhale is a struggle to clear all the grief.“She’s the only thing that made me feel like I could be good. Do good. I want to. I want to use The Rites of Passages’s power to make Mila’s world better. I’m evil enough to do that. I will pave a path for her that is safe. If my father loved my mother and kept her safe, then I can. I’ll die trying. I don’t care how dirty my hands are. I will be the man she needs in the light, but in the shadows, I will be the monster who keeps her safe. I need her to keep that beast sane. I need a purpose, but if I don’t find her, you better use your gun and end me because I will destroy everyone in my path.”

When I meet his eyes, I feel like a small boy again. We’re sitting on the floor of his dad’s office, waiting and hoping to be able to claim the chairs and seats our fathers sit in. Each breath is a baited hope that we will survive. I just want to survive long enough to tell Mila I love her.

I fucked up.

I want another chance.

I don’t want to be like Anders, who let the love of his life go. Now he just kills and kills, pouring his enemy’s blood into the hole where his heart used to thump and beat sanity into him. He’s just a breath now, useless, machine operated, drumming through each day. He tries to convince others that he’s happy, but each life he takes reflects his true colors. He’s miserable, demonic, without his heart.

I need my fucking heart! I need Mila.

Chapter 64

Mila

Thump! Thump!

All I can hear is my heartbeat flooding my ear, pulsing through the tips of my fingers as I make contact with my opponent. I welcome it, the singular sound that calms and focuses me.

“Stop!” Camilla shouts, but I swing, landing my punch into Ben’s ribs. He’s one of Camilla’s men, and she has assigned him to teach me how to fight. The past few weeks have carved new muscles into my body, causing aches I didn’t think were possible after I endured years of ballet training.

“You’re still too graceful, Mila,” Camilla enters the field. We’re somewhere outside of London. The air is thick and foggy, and the wild grass makes me nauseated, but I endure it. Her boots crush the soggy soil.

I like it when it’s wet; I think it gives the ground more cushion. My back has been slammed into it more times than I can count.

Camilla’s world is ruthless; there is no training gym, no padded floors. Just the cold, hard ground and truth.

It would be so easy to become one of her puppets; she paints a very touching story. I do feel for Camilla; sometimes I want her to get her revenge; I just want my friends and family spared from it.

She’s like a mother, sociopathic but still caring in her twisted way. She’s taken me in and taught me how to fight, but her most important trait is the ability to manipulate. Her staff bows down to her, and one flutter of her long lashes has the men drooling. She twists her words, making them coaxing till they are sticky like honey trapping us.

She’s a collector of broken creatures who she has mothered back to health.

“Don’t point your feet when you go into the punch. Land a solid foot.” She stomps the ground, making a slapping sound as the sole of her shoes squeezes out the moisture.“Flat feet, strong hands. Commitment, right, Ben?” Camilla eyes him strongly. Usually, she is fond of him, complementing his teachings. She still has me drawing at night, working on my portraits. She’s just trying to purge more memories from me so she can collect those, too.

Outside of her lessons, I’ve kept to myself, too scared to ask others questions. I cling to Camilla, something she would expect, and it helps with my lies. But so far, I haven’t discovered much. I don’t know who the man is she wants to destroy or how The Rites of Passage are holding up. I’ve just been learning how to fight and eventually kill.

“You need to be a force, Mila. Unpredictable. Keep your enemy guessing. Right, Ben, it’s all about who lies best.” Sheslowly sings out the last words like a snake slithering and hissing as it glides seamlessly over the grass.

Something is wrong.

My hair stands on edge, catching more of the thick fog. Shit! Does she suspect me?

No. I’ve been so good at night I tell her how Dash tricked me and how much I hate him, but I sprinkle the story with some love; I tell her how he saved me from Jared and Dom.

That’s natural; hate and love are always attached, and beautiful things must have thorns to keep them safe but also isolated.

“It’s time for your next lesson, Mila,” Camilla announces. Thick rain clouds move in, covering the sun and making my vision all the clearer. Camilla grabs a gun. I’m not shocked at first because, after my hand-to-hand combat, I do target practice. But we usually drive far out in the fields for that. They first had me shooting clay pucks, but I’ve progressed to live targets. Birds.

Camilla raises the gun so calmly I think nothing of it, but then…bang!

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