Page 97 of Taming Seraphine

“Anton never refused work, no matter how busy the firm got,” she says.

“Anton is retired.”

I don’t know her well enough to explain what’s really happening. She’s loyal to Anton, and Anton is Seraphine’s former handler.

“Fine. I’ll wait for the client to call back.” Rita hangs up.

My nostrils flare. Samson Capello has the nerve to refer to Seraphine as his sister. Men don’t exploit and assault their female relatives or keep them chained to the walls like dogs, they protect them.

At the thought of my sister, my heartstrings twang with a pang of regret. Regret at the looks of combined horror on their faces when I shot her attacker in the head.

When Anton took me away, he also helped my family move to another state. I tracked them down, but they refused to speak to me or even acknowledge my presence. I lost them forever because I could no longer stand by and let them get hurt by that bastard.

Seraphine isn’t like them. She doesn’t recoil at the prospect of death and violence. She thrives on it, perhaps a little too much, but she’s the only person I know whose soul is both as pure as it is tainted.

Rising to my feet, I head to the door. I’ll protect Seraphine from her enemies and anyone else who wishes her harm. And that starts now by grabbing one of the bastards who helped kill her mother.

THIRTY-SIX

SERAPHINE

I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t think of anything but Samson being alive.

If he believes I’m connected to his family’s deaths, then he might finally carry out his threat to kill my brother. Samson could be interrogating Gabriel right now or making him suffer in revenge for his grief.

Thoughts like this swirl around in my head, adding to images of Dad ripping out Gabriel’s liver over and over in a Promethean punishment for Mom’s cheating. I lie as still as death, trying to erase my mind, but it’s like trying to fight the wind.

Leroi stands in the doorway of my bedroom. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to acknowledge his presence. He was supposed to have killed the entire family and now the most psychotic of them still lives. I don’t know how I feel about him right now. He helped me escape from the basement and I want to be mad at him, but I can’t find it in myself to feel furious.

Samson was awful enough before I bit through his penis and made it rot. If Dad and Gregor hadn’t been there to control his anger, he would have tortured me slowly until I begged for death.

With a sigh, Leroi retreats from my room and shuts the door.

My eyes snap open, and I stare into the dark. Tomorrow, I need to convince Leroi to let me hunt Samson. Every moment Samson spends alive is a risk to Gabriel’s continued survival.

Hours pass, and the sky changes from black to indigo to blue before the morning sun shines in my eyes. I lie on my back, all traces of enjoyment from the nightclub forgotten, as I work out a way to get to Samson.

It’s difficult since Leroi has reverted into overprotective mode and scrubbed his home of weapons sharper than a table knife. The front door is locked, and the apartment is too high up for me to climb down from the balcony. He probably thinks I’ll try to escape to find Samson.

Being so dependent on Leroi makes my skin itch. He moves too slowly and makes too little progress. We should be out there, kicking down doors, smashing heads, and blowing up buildings to hunt down Samson, the guards who assaulted Mom, and whoever’s keeping Gabriel hostage.

The door opens, and Leroi fills the doorway, dressed for action in a black hoodie and dark jeans. I sit up, my heart pounding.

“We can’t just sit around waiting,” I say, my voice tight. “Samson is out there, probably torturing Gabriel. We need to find?—”

“Come with me.” He disappears into the living room.

“Where are we going?” I scramble out of bed.

“I’ve tracked down one of your leads.” He strides to the front door. “He’s waiting for us downstairs.”

My heart skips several beats as I follow Leroi out of the apartment, down the elevator, and to the basement parking lot. He leads me outside to a courtyard lined with dumpsters, where an armored truck awaits, similar to the one he and Miko used to drive away from the mansion.

Leroi unlocks its side door and gestures for me to step inside. Its interior is dark, save for a stream of light coming in from an upper vent that reflects against walls and floors covered in a transparent plastic wrap.

A heavy-set man wearing blue boxers, a sleeveless shirt, and a black hood over his head sits tied to a chair in the back.

“Who is this?” I ask.

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