Page 136 of Taming Seraphine

What did Anton do to her that was too terrible to even mention?

I swallow over and over, trying to digest the notion that Anton could be a worse predator than Samson. Because there’s a selfish, twisted part of myself that wonders if I’m the same. I knew she was damaged, knew she’d been abused, yet I fucked her against the wall after she tortured a rapist.

“You can tell me anything,” I say. “They’ll be no judgment, no matter what.”

I keep my voice even and my gaze soft, despite the anger and hatred burning through my veins, despite the overwhelming helplessness of knowing that the man I called a mentor is a monster.

She lowers her lashes. “He never touched me, not in a way that was inappropriate, but he...”

“Seraphine, what did he do?”

She swallows. “He said I had to learn to attract men and look innocent and harmless so they could drop their guard.”

Hesitating, I wait for her to continue.

“I had to exercise naked, and he would get really close to adjust my form.” A shudder runs through her bones, sending ripples through the bathwater. “Sometimes, I could feel his breath on my skin. Do you think that’s why I stabbed that man at the gas station in the eye?”

“It’s possible.” My words are choked.

What Seraphine describes isn’t just sexual abuse, it’s psychological torture. Being forced to assume vulnerable positions and never knowing when Anton’s control might snap is the worst kind of mind fuck.

“He also ordered me to change into cute little outfits while he watched. Sometimes I had to dance.”

My jaw clenches.

That sick bastard.

“When Samson brought him in, he’d stand back and do nothing while Samson used the collar to make me humiliate myself with sex toys. When he was with Gregor, he just stared at me while I was training in a way that made my skin crawl.” She shakes her head. “It’s so difficult to describe?—”

“I believe you.”

Her eyes widen. “You do?”

“Even if they didn’t rape you, it was still abuse. They were evil men, and when we catch up with them, they will die horribly.”

She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me into a tight hug that I don’t deserve. If Seraphine knew that I owed my life to Anton, she would leave me without a second thought.

Or maybe she would snap. She isn’t healed enough to take care of herself and doesn’t have the resources to find Gabriel.

Then she’d be out there alone and vulnerable, killing people until either the police caught up with her. Or Samson.

She must never know my secret.

FIFTY-TWO

SERAPHINE

Leroi has barely said a word to me since he lifted me out of the bath and dried every inch of my body with fluffy towels. Then we returned to the interrogation room to switch off the sprinkler, and Leroi dragged Paolo’s corpse to a disposal chute without explaining what would happen next.

I lean against the car door watching his profile, my mind replaying our conversation, trying to figure out the reason for this prolonged silence. It’s impossible to pinpoint the part that disturbed him the most. Maybe it was when I took advantage of the afterglow and asked to sleep in his bed?

“Leroi?” I murmur.

The corners of his lips tighten. “What?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not.” His voice is harsh and betrays his words.

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