Page 117 of The Devil's Thorn
I cross the room and lean against the kitchen island, arms crossed, silent. My eyes flick to Kellan’s. He finally looks up. His expression is unreadable, but his jaw ticks once.
Ash doesn’t move. “He’s lucky you’re not dead,” he says quietly, voice low and rough like gravel. “You were out cold for too long.”
I don’t respond. I just reach for Kellan’s coffee and take a slow sip. Bitter. Hot. Perfect.
“He drugged me,” I say finally. “That was his move.”
Ash scoffs under his breath. “And he’s still breathing?”
I look at him. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” Kellan says.
“I know.”
That’s what makes it worse.
He didn’t touch me. Didn’t threaten me. Didn’t evenwarnme. He just smiled… and watched the world blur.
I set the cup down. “I’m not going to cry over it,” I say. “And I’m not going to hide.”
Ash raises an eyebrow. “What’re you going to do?”
I look at both of them. My heart’s steady. Cold. “I’m going to remind him who he’s playing with.”
Silence.
Kellan watches me closely. “What’s the plan?”
I smile, but there’s no warmth in it. Only ice.
“First,” I say, stepping away from the counter, “you’re going to find out where Rafael will be tonight.”
Kellan’s eyes narrow, the hint of approval flickering behind them. He nods once. “I’ll get you the location.”
Good.
Because I’m not done. Not by a long shot.
The water I took from the counter doesn’t help. I sip it anyway—slowly, quietly—feeling the chill of it slide down my throat, pooling somewhere deep inside me. The glass is cold in my hand, my fingers steady despite the weight pressing down on my ribs.
I move to the couch,legs folding beneath me as I sink into the cushions. My other hand curls around the throw draped over the armrest, not to pull it over me, but tofeelsomething. Ground myself.
The quiet is heavy, the kind that creeps under your skin and dares you to flinch.
Ash is back on the couch opposite me, silent again, one foot resting on his knee, twirling a dagger between his fingers. His eyes flick to mine every so often. Kellan leans against the wall bythe window, arms crossed, his phone screen casting faint light across his jaw.
I stare ahead at nothing, my eyes unfocused.
He drugged me. And Ilethim.
Iknewsomething was off. I tasted it. Felt it. Saw the smear of it at the bottom of the glass. But I still drank it. Still sat there, letting the floor tilt sideways, letting my lashes get heavier, letting my body surrender.
Because some part of me wanted to see what he’d do. And Rafael Romanov, the Bratva’s cold, ruthless king—Didn’t do anything.
He left me untouched. Unbothered.Safe.And that… that was the part that rattled me the most.
It would’ve been easier if he’d crossed a line. Then I could’ve burned him for it.
