Page 65 of Wrathful King
“As if you give two shits,” Dante interjected.
“You’re right; I don’t even give one. Everyone out. Except Romero.” I met the old man’s eyes. My eyes roamed the room to discover Reina’s grandmother had disappeared, along with that ridiculous tiara on her head. “What’s the deal with your mother-in-law and that headpiece?”
He rolled his eyes, shrugging. “She’s determined to send me to my grave early,” he stated wryly. “And who the fuck knows about that tiara. Every so often, she struts around with it.”
“You can remain here with her.” I lowered my gaze to Reina’s sleeping form in my arms. “I’m taking Reina away from all this shit for a bit.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” His concerns were justified, but I’d made my choice. She needed peace that this place couldn’t offer her.
“I’m sure,” I told him. “I have it all lined up.”
24
REINA
Ijolted awake after yet another nightmare. My bedsheets were a tangled mess, proof of my tossing and turning.
Every night I was back in that dark basement. Every night I heard terror-filled, skull-piercing screams. And then there was the familiar shadow, Perez Cortes, toying with me. Biding his time.
Until, finally, I’d jolt awake, my shirt clinging to my body with sweat. My hair damp, sticking to my forehead, and confusion swirling in my head.
Fear cocooned me and refused to let go. I kept hearing the pure terror in those women’s screams. I kept seeing the missing limbs and blank eyes of the innocent girl that I didn’t even attempt to save. And then there were men I’d killed.
I never would’ve imagined that reality would be worse than the drug-induced fog I’d become so dependent on, the lows that always followed it.
The haze in my brain was gone. The tremors were as well. But the pain in my heart remained a constant companion. It was ironic, really. I’d fought to live, to keep from being touched, for however long I was in captivity, only to learn that death would have been better than staying alive.
I would have finally been at peace.
No more fighting the agony or the mess clogging my brain, no more having my heart shredded to pieces by shame. Wait—no. Amon would never betray me. Why would I think that?
He’ll never want you again. Not with those scars.
Fucking Cortes.He’s dead! Why can’t I get him out of my head?
The breeze swept off the ocean and cooled my cheeks. The moon glimmered in the sky, weaving shadows through my room.
Suddenly, my bedroom door swung open, and there stood a different dark shadow. The outline of my prince in shining armor.
My husband.
But I was the furthest thing from goddamned Cinderella. I was filthy, dirty, untouchable.
I turned my gaze to stare back out the window. Stars surrounded the moon and admired its glow. It reminded me of the two of us, this fascination with him that started the day I met him by the castle on the Gulf of Trieste.
It wasn’t a good fascination. It wasn’t a fairy-tale kind of love. No, it was a dark, twisted type of pain, complete with secrets that tore at everything in their wake.
“Reina, baby,” he said roughly. “When will you finally talk to me?”
I couldn’t fall under his spell. I didn’t deserve to.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see you.” My lips trembled, and I was forced to suck them between my teeth or risk the sobs breaking through. “I don’t love you anymore. You need to let me go.”
Ruined. Broken. Filthy.
An internal war waged inside me, the one that screamed there was no happy ending for me. And then it was that romantic part that had shriveled to a tiny pebble that still needed the light. That still needed him.
“You don’t love me.” His tone was flat. “Then I need to work harder.”
