Page 8 of Cinder
I don’t just enforce retribution.
I deliver it in a way only I know how.
With no mercy.
CHAPTER 4
Ella
The dress ischampagne-colored silk and falls past my hips and down to my ankles. The spaghetti straps show off my arms, and the neckline is high enough to retain a level of modesty but still low enough to tantalize.
My hair is up, pulled into place by our housekeeper, Antonia, whose wise old eyes noticed the fresh bruises around my throat but whose pinched mouth said nothing as she styled my hair. For months she has watched this home change from a beautiful oasis into a wasteland of fear and darkness. But she says nothing. She has family back home who depend on her income. But as she did my hair, our eyes met in the mirror, and I saw the empathy in them. She knows exactly how my brother treats me and how I am powerless to stop it.
I am now no longer in the safety of my bedroom. Now I am standing in my brother’s palatial den with its high cathedral ceilings and spectacularly gilded walls. When my father built this house many years ago, he made it as an opulent offering to my mother. I’m sure she is turning in her grave right now, just like my father probably is while they watch this spectacle unfold.
In front of me is a camera on a tripod. A blinking red light tells me it is recording.
My job is to stand here and look demure and sexy at the same time. My brother has even gone as far as sticking markers to the marble floor to indicate where I should stand. I am not to move past the markers. I am to stand here like a mannequin. A beautiful, lifeless mannequin with dead eyes and no voice. But I’m not a mannequin. I am a living breathing human being who is about to be sold to the highest bidder, and I am screaming inside.
On the receiving end of the livestream of me standing here in a seven-thousand-dollar designer dress are five men who my brother has invited for today’s auction. I don’t know who they are. But they will be big players in the organized crime world, and it terrifies me. Because I know who exactly they are going to be. Evil. Ruthless. Monsters.Just like my brother.
Luca is watching me from behind his desk, his dark, cold eyes trained on me. Every now and again he looks down at the laptop screen to watch the bids as they come in for the Moretti virgin bride.
It takes everything in me to not cry. Everything to not breakhis rules. Because if I take one step out of place, my sweet sister will pay the price.
But I am shaking, and my throat is tight with fear. My heart bangs against my rib bones, and the vibration rattles throughout my body. But I won’t give Luca the satisfaction of seeing my fear. Instead, I keep my face as expressionless as I think of all the ways I will murder Luca Moretti.
And as my fate is sealed by one astounding bid, I stare at my brother who is clapping his hands together in glee, and I make a silent vow to one day kill him.
CHAPTER 5
Lars
After leavingEugene to rot in the shit and the piss and the rain, I don’t head for home right away, despite being bone tired. Instead, I go for a ride along the cliffs that fringe the town because I need the kind of soothing only a night ride can give me.
It’s close to two a.m. when I ride back to the Knights of St. Boniface clubhouse. It’s an old castle on the hill overlooking St. Boniface. Most of the castle is in ruins, but we make it work—we have for more than a hundred years, when the very first Knights of St. Boniface chapter was formed. They rose out of the ashes of World War I and bought the abandoned castle as their clubhouse.
Tonight, with the full moon shining behind it, the clubhouse looks majestic. Resilient.Like home.
I pass through the tall wrought-iron gates and along the winding driveway, still feeling the effects of tonight with every breath I take.
Which isn’t like me.
After a kill, I’m usually buzzing. Every nerve and fiber fizzing with wild energy.
Ridding the world of one more asshole brings a bag of mixed emotions and creates a frenetic energy in me that takes time to ease. I like to help it along by fucking it out of me.
Usually, I reach for one of the club girls, and we spend the night in mutual gratification. There is no shortage of them in our clubhouse. Beautiful, nurturing women who are soft and gentle, with hands that know how to soothe.
But not tonight.
I’m too fucking haunted by Carina and Beth to go looking for anything like that. Instead of feeling high, I feel a different kind of energy.
One of remorse and rage mixed with sadness and regret.
Fucking it out of my body doesn’t seem right.
Almost disrespectful.
