Page 34 of Savage Sin

“My father gave them to me the night I refused to kill a man who wronged him. I was twelve.”

My madman pauses and takes a deep drink of his booze.

“Who was he?” I ask in a quiet tone. “The man who wronged your father, I mean.”

“My first kill.” He takes another swallow and puts the bottle on the floor. Steel bands contract around my chest. There are secrets and then there is information that can get you killed. This feels like the latter of the two.

“You said you refused.”

“At first. But no one refused my father for long. I learned that the hard way.”

“I’m sorry, Rage.”

“Keep your pity, Persephone Castel.”

“Stop calling me by my full name. I know who I am.”

He keeps on talking like I’ve said nothing. “There’s something you need to know about me, Persephone Castel. I was born to a killer, raised a killer. Blood covers my hands and stains my soul. It’s who I am.”

And who I should fear is what he means. “I don’t believe you.”

His head falls back and the whole bed shakes with the force of his laughter. “Foolish girl.”

Deep shadows and moonlight shroud his features. When he swivels a fraction to look at me over his shoulder, I refuse to cower under the intense wrath brewing inside him. Instead of breaking eye contact, I hold his gaze.

“What the fuck do you know?” He’s angry. And drunk. Not a magnificent combination, so I keep my voice level when I speak the truth. The weight of his gaze vanishes when he turns away from me.

“I know I’m not dead.”

Nothing but the sound of crickets and the wind in the trees fill the space between us for several heartbeats.

“You said ‘first kill’. How many people have you killed, Rage?” And will my body join the number? That question cuts deep, but I don’t voice my fears. What can I do about it if he puts a gun to my head and pulls the trigger? Not much. So I listen and work on a plan to get him to free me.

There’s another pause. He grabs the bottle and starts peeling at the edges of the label. “Every time I close my eyes I see her tear-stained face and hear her baby wail like he knew death had come for his tiny soul. My baby brother.”

Sorrow crawls over my body at the sadness in his voice.

I expected a number or to be told to fuck off. Not a story.

“Who was she?” I ask patiently. Please don’t saymy mother, I silently beg.

“One of my father’s many mistresses. My mother found out about her and the harem he kept stashed away on a ranch outside of Moscow. She demanded he sell them off and any offspring he fathered.”

Pained eyes find me in the darkness. There are only shades of varying silver coming in through the sliding door, but it’s enough to see the horrors he’s lived etched into the lines of his face. Not until right this minute did I realize how much suffering ages a person. He’s handsome, but the weight of his family’s sins has deepened the lines over his forehead and the creases at the edges of his eyes.

I’m almost afraid to speak, but I have to know. “And did he? Did your father do as she ordered?”

“The daughters were easy to sell off. There were three of them. Their mothers, on the other hand, were deemed used goods and needed getting rid of.”

“They sold your sisters?”

He nods.

Disbelief locks my tears behind a vault. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is he telling me all this to purge his soul in some drunken midnight confession? No, this man has a plan. I feel the darkness is allowing him to speak truths very few know about, butwhyhe’s doing it has my stomach hollowing and my heart racing.

“How did your mother hold so much power over your father?”

“He married her for her money. One word to her father, and mine would be worm food. He feared her, and for good reason. Her father was the head of a powerful Bratva faction at the time.”

---