Page 11 of Silent Schemes
The words should disgust me.
They should make me feel something—rage, fear, anything.
But I learned long ago that feelings are luxury items, and my father doesn't raise his daughters to indulge in luxuries.
"Men like Bane think with their cocks," he continues, stopping behind me where I can't see him.
It's deliberate—he wants me off balance, reminded that threats come from everywhere. "He's been without a steady woman since that situation a few years ago. He'll be hungry for it. Be his fantasy, then be his end, and you'll earn your place in this family."
Earn my place.
As if being born with Cross blood isn't enough.
As if surviving twenty-four years in this hell isn't enough.
As if the seven men I've already killed for him aren't enough.
But that's the thing about being a woman in Theodore Cross's world—nothing is ever enough.
We're currency, not family.
Tools, not daughters.
I learned that when I was twelve and he made me watch my first execution, telling me that women who couldn't stomach violence had no place at his table.
"I understand," I say, voice steady as stone.
Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention.
Maya hovers in the doorway, trying to be invisible.
My baby sister, only sixteen, still clinging to the innocence I lost a decade ago.
Her eyes are wide, drinking in every word, and my stomach clenches.
Father notices her, too.
His smile is the thing nightmares are made of. "Watch carefully, Maya. You'll do this someday. Your sister is about to show you how a Cross woman handles business."
No.
The word screams through my mind, but I don't let it reach my face.
Maya won't become this.
She won't become me.
I'll kill our father myself before I let him turn her into another weapon in his arsenal.
She deserves better than seduction missions and blood under her fingernails.
She deserves a life that doesn't smell like cigars and death.
"I will set the perfect example," I say, drawing my father’s attention back to me. "Won't you need preparation time?"
"Three days," he says, returning to his desk. "Vincent will handle your training schedule. You'll need to be perfect. One shot at this, daughter. Don't disappoint me."
The threat hangs unspoken—or else.
