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I stand taller, glaring through the window. “Who is he?”
“A man with an affinity for children,” The Prince growls, his nostrils flaring with heated disgust. “My sister and I took him as a client when we were desperate, and he’s only ever had us dig up his old memories of his younger brother. It wasn’t until our third visit with him that I realized he was getting off on it, watching memories of a boy getting pushed around by a younger version of himself.”
The Prince folds his arms over his chest, uncomfortable. “Tonight, he’s requested to access recent memories of different boys he’s met in the last few months. I have a feeling those threads will be less than savory.”
My face scrunches. “Lead the way. Let’s end him.”
He glances down at me. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, we need to keep a low profile. I can’t be known as the Boss that kills his clientele.”
I look him over in his T-shirt and sweatpants, then I pluck at my sweater, wiggle my toes in the dirt. “I don’t think we’re exactly low profile.”
He nods. “Yeah, but it’s pretty dark in there. No one will notice if we hurry to mine and my sister’s tent. However, I do need to remove this.” He picks up his shirt, and in one breathtaking movement, he takes it off. He grins as I stare at his muscular torso. “Must you look at me like that?”
“Like what?” I snap my gaze up to his.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Do you want to ravage me, Zora?”
I scoff and wave him off. “I’m just excited for bloodshed.”
“She says after ogling my abs,” he mutters, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
Heat crawls across my cheeks. “Shut up.”
He presses his lips together, forcing away a smile, and gestures to the door. “After you.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “You’re very hot then cold, you know that?” I tug the door open.
He holds it for me and lifts a brow. “I’m very hot, huh?”
I roll my eyes and shove past him inside.
At nine, my adoptive parents sold me for the first time. I don’t remember much besides the darkness of a blindfold, the darkness of the room when the blindfold was forcibly removed, and the darkness of the eyes of the man pinning me down. It was the kind of darkness that lingers, no matter how hard I try to banish it.
After years in the Underground, there isn’t much that rattles me.
But this place – this dark, quiet place.
I hate it.
My nails dig into the side of my pants as I adjust my sight to the hall before me.
It’s long and wide, black tents crammed next to each other on either side, with a stage set up at the end. My ears pick up the hum of music from one tent, a moan from another, an argument further down – but every noise comes muted, little whispers trapped behind tent flaps.
I jump as a hand touches my shoulder and twist around toward The Prince.
He removes his hand quickly, his brow furrowed as he studies me. “Are you okay?”
I analyze the concern in his eyes, hunting for pity. I don’t do pity. Ever. After a second, I recognize he’s genuine and give him a single, clipped nod. “Which one’s yours?”
He runs his gaze over me another time, the muscles along his neck flexing, before he leads me down the hall to one of the few tents with its flaps pulled back.
Inside, there are two purple, cushioned chairs opposite a plush black couch. A lantern on a pole is set up in the far corner, and The Prince lights it as I track dirt over an expensive rug. He eyes my bare feet.
“Sorry, I guess I could have at least given you time for shoes,” he admits, his voice rough.
I shrug and plop down on the black sofa. I sink into it and hum in contentment, forcing myself to think about it and its comfiness over every dark thought blazing to life in my mind.
“You can’t sit there,” he says.
