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“He was good to me too.”
I imagined he had been. “My knives, Lucifer ...”
His fingers relaxed their hold, and my arm fell away. I immediately missed the warmth of his touch.
He shook his head. “You’re aware of my role. It’s my duty to keep everyone safe—including you. Even if it’s from yourself.”
I stumbled backward. He thought I needed protection from myself?
Fury clouded my vision, and I knew full well how unhinged I must have appeared.
My parents had been murdered in cold blood. I’d been kidnapped. Raised by a pack of savages. Raped as a child. Beaten and defiled. Forced to marry my own nightmare.
And I’d survived.
I’d survived on faith. Not in the promise of justice. Not in the glory of God.
Faith in myself.
Myself.
The devil could fuck all the way off.
The emotional weight of the last several days came crashing down. Anger camouflaged my shame, and the next thing I knew, I was hurling a string of Gaelic curses at Lucifer so hard and fast I felt the room spin.
I charged at him, prepared to add another mark to his face that now reflected pity. Pity was the last thing I wanted from a goddamn Flynn. But before I could make impact, he captured my wrists, holding me at bay.
“Who hit you?” His tone was calm. Patient.
“What?” I snapped. I tried to wiggle free from his grip, but he tugged me to him until I was close enough to count his every eyelash if I wanted to.
I’d rather rip them out.
He lowered his head. “I believe it’s my turn. So I’ll ask again. Who hit you, Willa? Is that why you need your knives? Are you afraid of someone? Is it Cillian?”
I stopped resisting and for a moment considered the sincerity in his tone. But then I recalled how he’d just implied that I was my very own big bad, and I saw red.
I plastered on my biggest fuck-you smile. “It’s time for you to leave. I wouldn’t want my fiancé to find out you were in my bedroom and get the wrong idea. There’s no telling what he’d do. He can be a vicious cunt when he wants to be.” My eyes flicked up to meet Lucifer’s. “Or so I’ve heard,” I added with a nonchalant shrug.
His ability to hide any reaction behind that iron mask was impressive, even by Lucifer standards.
Fuck him.
Something damaged inside me shattered, making way for cruelty I didn’t know I was capable of. I may have killed a man—okay, make that two—but I’d never been possessed to cause hurt on a psychological level until now.
Survival has a way of bringing out the monster in all of us.
I pressed onto my tiptoes, wanting him to get a good look at the blue venom I was about to unleash. “You want to know who hit me, Lucifer?”
His eyes thinned, and I gloated internally at the suggestion that he regretted taking his little game this far.
My tongue wetted my lower lip and his gaze fell to my mouth. “Aiden Brennan hit me. He backhanded me so hard I blacked out.”
His grip tightened a hair, but I didn’t flinch.
No amount of discomfort—physical or otherwise—would stop me now. I was all in.
“When I woke up, I was in bed. Undressed. Completely naked. But I wasn’t alone ...” I paused when I felt his body tense. I wanted to draw out the conclusion of my fucked-up recollection, leave him in immeasurable suspense even as nausea settled in my gut. “Cillian,” I finally added. “Cillian was beside me ... watching me ... touching—”
