“I’d have paid good money for that.” Mae grins. “What now?”
I run a hand through my hair and tug. With my training, I could accidentally kill someone if I let myself lose control—but Gryphon brings up things in me I don’t want to inspect too closely.
“I have a feeling he’s going to confront Marlowe. You find her first, make sure she’s okay. I don’t think he’d physically hurt her, but I don’t want to take chances.” My stomach clenches at the thought. “I’ll move to plan B.”
Mae nods, her expression sobering. She doesn’t give off the impression that she takes anything seriously, so it’s reassuring to see that she can. She slips out of the room, and I follow not long after.
Hands still shaking from the confrontation, I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress and glance around the hallway. By this point in the evening, more of the guests have spilled onto the second floor, but none of them pay attention as I head into the East wing. With giggles at my back, I sneak into the showroom of vintage tech. Glass cabinets stretch overhead and all along the far wall. Everything seems to be grouped by category, arranged from oldest to the most modern. The citrusy scent of bleach stings my nostrils, and every single surface shines beneath theoverhead lights. Hopefully, with this much care taken to display them, these objects are functional.
As I reach for an elaborate cabinet handle, the door at my back clicks. I have a second of warning before an arm swings around and clamps down over my collarbone. I duck my chin before it can tighten against my neck and slip my fingers into the gap between the arm and my skin. I pick up a subtle masculine scent.
He tries to get me into a rear-naked choke hold by grabbing his opposite bicep. I can’t let him complete the move; he’s taller and wider, and I’ll be unconscious in seconds. I waste no time in yanking on the shoulder of his jacket and sinking all my weight. He’s forced to bend with me. With a sweep of my inside leg between his, we end up bent over in a chokehold instead. My right ankle rolls in the strappy heel and rewards me with a sharp jab of pain to complement the pressure of his grip on my neck.
His arm doesn’t so much as jostle—surya-ki laash—and I take the risk of disentangling one hand, twisting my elbow into the space between his legs and slamming it into his balls. He jolts. His grasp slips just the slightest as he curls inwards, but he doesn’t lose me. Before he can take advantage of this position and start punching me in the head, I use momentum to throw it back and slam it into his face. The crunch of his nose is almost as satisfying as getting loose.
He stumbles backwards, and I twist to face him as he grabs for my hair. I slam a fist into his forearm and skip back, widening the distance between us. It’s Eduard, which doesn’t surprise me at all. Blood streams down his chin, but he doesn’t bother to wipe it as he eyes me.
I’m panting, annoyed at myself for getting caught out in a pair of fucking heels. If they weren’t strapped around my ankles, I’d kick the shoes off. At least the dress has a slit in itand I have better range of movement. I wrench my hair into a quick, sloppy braid and tuck it into itself. I wish I hadn’t handed my bag to Mae; I could have tried to choke Eduard with the dinky chain-link strap.
The quirk of his reddened mouth makes the smile gruesome. He’s enjoying this, and I get it. There’s a hunger that grows from the knowledge of how to exact violence, until you end up loving the rush it gives you. The eternal dilemma: am I a monster because I harm, or do I harm because I’m a monster?
Eduard, with his bright silver eyes and bloodthirsty grin, knows this. His calm demeanour from our first meeting has devolved into this. It’s obvious that we’re well matched, something he probably doesn’t come across often. But I don’t have time to relish a fight with someone who can give as good as he gets. He sidesteps, and I adjust my positioning to account for the change in dynamic, watching how he moves—noting the unmistakable military influence.
“I might enjoy this,” he says, right before he launches himself at me.
Bitterness
I throw another designer heel at the wall. It bounces off and joins the multicoloured pile on the floor. This one leaves a dent in the paint and satisfaction sharpens my smile. Later, I’ll regret damaging what was, once upon a time, the most beautiful house I’d ever seen. Right now, Dominik’s just lucky it’s not his face. He gave me this study in an attempt to mollify me, and many of its original features have been modernised, including the freshly painted sage walls. Who does that to a house like this: a literal piece of history?
“Arsehole!”
I’d carted through an armful of shoes from the attached bedroom, and I dig another out of the pile now. Vee’s in his room and I’m experiencing some much-needed catharsis.
What was Tanisira thinking, showing up here?
My arm sags, and I look at the door without seeing it—remembering, instead, the taste of Tanisira mingling with my salty tears. I couldn’t resist kissing her one last time, and though it was perfect, it was also unfair. She shouldn’t have come. But, fuck, seeing her in that ridiculous dress did something to me; not because she looked more feminine, but because she lookedsouncomfortable. She was clearly enduring it, and she was choosing to do it for me. Even now my heart clenches, and I drop the slingback. I’ve lost my steam, and I just feel bone tired.
I hate everything about this. I hate that I’ve given Dominik so much control over me. The bedroom closet is filled with clothing he apparently picked for me: shoes, bags and jewellery. They’re all things Iusedto like.
At least he was smart enough to give me my own bedroom.
All this insanity is being framed as Dominik’s inability to move on, when I genuinely thought he had. I’ve heard about girlfriends from Opal and seen him holographed at events with beautiful people on his arm. He did try to talk to me on occasion, but I always shut it down. It would then be radio silence for weeks; I didn’t take that to mean he was still in fucking love with me. I don’t think he ever even tried to move on.
I slump against the thick, wooden desk. Mostly, I hate that only now I can see—soveryclearly—the disconnect between Dominik and Vee. Whatever he feels for his son, it’s not a strong, paternal love. He treats Vee like an afterthought: throwing money at him and expecting it will do the job. The three of us haven’t been in a room together since Vee was atoddler, so I’d never seen just howawkwardDominik is with him until today. And he’s just been shouldering that burden this whole time. How can I trust my son with a group of near strangers more than I do with his own father?
I don’t think I can subject Vee to a decade of this, but if I take him and run, he could end up back here anyway. Both scenarios are fucked. I had planned to put my head down, keep the peace, and give Dominik no reason to make good on his threat—right up until I snapped in that room downstairs.
Suddenly, the door shudders, making me jump.
“Marlowe,” Dominik shouts through the wood. The sound of his voice pisses me off all over again and does no favours for my racing heart.
“Marlowe!”
Vee’s room is in the other wing—another thing that made it clear Dominik doesn’t give a shit. Who puts their kid in the opposite wing where the guest bedrooms are? Right now, though, I’m actually glad he’s not nearby.
“Lowe, open the door.”
He’s slurring, which means I’m definitely not letting him in. Dominik’s a poor drunk, cycling between maudlin and belligerent. Right now, he sounds morose, but I have nothing to say to him either way.
