Page 15 of Possession

The property goes on forever, and we’ve passed so many guards with guns, I’ve lost count. The entire complex is painted white, from the perimeter walls to outbuildings to the mansion. It sits like a beacon in the dark, lined with lush gardens and palm trees that wave in the night as the waves hit the rocky shore below the cliff where it’s perched. It’s more beautiful than the resort where my parents and I were held the last five days.

But as we enter the world of the Marino Cartel, it couldn’t be more different.

Gone is the light and airy feel of the resort-like fortress. The colors are heavy, the intricate ironwork reminds me of prison bars, and the mood reeks of death.

Much like the vibes I got from my fiancé for the short moments we shared before his demise.

But it doesn’t matter how bleak my future looks, I’m still single.

Score one for Landyn.

I’ll cling to that small victory like it’s my last lifeline, which it is. My last bit of freedom.

We approach a man in a suit. He must have fared better than us or had time to change out of his bloody clothes. He’s standing outside a set of tall double doors in an intimidating, wide stance that screamsit’s the middle of the night and I’m not in the mood to fuck around. “He’s waiting for you.”

Boz gives him a chin lift as he pulls me on bare feet over the cold tiles and turns a door knob.

Alamandos Marino rests in a leather wingback chair behind a massive desk. I didn’t see him in the church earlier, and before now, I’ve only heard of him. My father wasn’t kidding when he described him as one broken hip away from his deathbed. He sits in shriveled skin, which makes me wonder how much he’s shrunk over the years. Even though the grand office chair swallows his frail figure, power rolls off him in spades.

It might have to do with all the armed guards standing sentry around him. There are others in the room standing to the side—ranging in ages from me to my father. One of them is the priest from the church. Gone is the elegant robe he wore at the altar. He’s dressed in black from head to foot other than his white collar. He looks as tired as I feel. Boz and I are the only ones out of place in our bloody clothes.

Alamandos might be old, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost his ominous reputation. By the way he’s looking at me, no one would guess that I’m the innocent victim in the middle of a nightmare. Instead, his glare on me is dark and accusing.

As if I was the one to put a bullet through his son’s head.

If I could have, I would have.

Alamandos’ gaze shifts to Boz, and his tone sends a chill down my spine. “Where was she?”

Boz comes to an abrupt halt in front of the desk and pulls me to his side, never letting go of my arm. “An hour and a half southwest. Once I started asking in town and talked to Damian’s main contact at the department, I knew which direction they went. It took hours, but I checked every Lazada safehouse in that area. She was alone.”

Mr. Marino’s tired, dark eyes shift to me, taking me in from my messy hair to my bare toes. It’s all I can do to stand my ground and not hide behind the man who delivered me back to ground zero.

I shouldn’t trust him.

I can’t trust anyone.

Not even my own father.

Alamandos Marino’s gaze hesitates on my dress stained with his only child’s blood, before it moves to my face. “Is that true?”

I swallow hard over the lump in my throat, but don’t say a word.

Boz gives my arm a firm squeeze. I guess when Mr. Marino asks a question, I need to answer.

“I…” I force myself to clear my raspy, dry throat. “I was bound and hooded the whole time until he found me. I have no idea who took me or where I was. I honestly have no idea what happened today or who—” Boz gives me another squeeze.

Shit.

How am I supposed to know how much to say or when to keep my mouth shut?

Alamandos tips his head and glares at me. “Your father had the balls to ask for you back.”

My heart skips a beat, but when Boz’s fingers squeeze my bicep, I clamp my mouth shut. I can’t say the same for my expression since tears instantly threaten what shaky demeanor I’m trying to hold onto.

The tips of Alamandos’ fingers drum on the leather arm of his throne. “After today, your father has more problems than auctioning off his only daughter to pay his debt to save his own ass. I’ll find out who was behind today’s attack and Damian’s murder. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find out who pulled the trigger on my son. And when I do, I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to keep him alive for as long as I can. He’ll be tortured so badly, he’ll beg to meet his maker. If I find out that your father ordered the attack today, he’ll experience the same. Do you understand?”

My knees wobble when I nod. I sway, and Boz yanks me against him tighter. I’m grateful. Otherwise, I might land in a puddle on the floor.

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