Page 102 of Hellbound

Vale acted like he didn’t hear her when Marian asked if his human costume was a “tactile illusion” too.

She’d found Tori that morning dealing with her own stress in the kitchen. A cabinet over the fridge was open. Several expensive bottles of vodka and bourbon sat empty on the counter while the traveler upended one over the sink. Marian stood in the doorway, watching her prop her chin in her hand as she nonchalantly poured amber liquid down the drain.

Their eyes met briefly. Marian said nothing; she walked away and left the traveler to cope in peace. A waste of good liquor, she thought, but she respected Tori’s brand of vengeance.

They were hours away from showtime, and the house was silent. Soon she’d be trussed up like a socialite who belonged at a Getty gala. She’d played this part before. Though the potholes in her memory were many, she still had crystal clear recollection of Daniel parading his lovely wife and little stepdaughter at Yacht Club fundraisers for the church. Donors loved a family man, he’d said. But they never wanted to hear a seven-year-old, so Marian was instructed to look pretty and keep quiet.

At least this time she wouldn’t be an accessory to her parents’ lie—the perfect family. This time, she’d be the whole-ass crime.

Sometime later, she stood in her room. Freshly showered, her clean bleached-to-brown locks fell loose and wavy on her shoulders. She’d put on the soft lounge pants she’d found in the drawer the other day. A gentle knock at the door dragged her out of the start of a broody spiral. Marian turned to find Tori poking her head in.

“Can I come in?” Tori asked wearily.

Some of the tension bled out of Marian at the sight of her.

“Sure.”

Tori shuffled into the room. Marian’s brows shot up as she got an eyeful of the traveler’s outfit.

A long gown of sumptuous gold satin. Ruched at the waist, it hugged her generous hips tightly, accentuating her hourglass figure. Dropped sleeves framed a high bodice that covered her ample cleavage and left her shoulders and collarbones bare. Marian’s boiled marshmallow skin couldn’t handle the color, but it made Tori and her burnt umber complexion radiant.

It reminded her of the traveler’s golden form in Hell. A beacon of light and defiance in the darkness.

“Vale made me wear it,” Tori said with disdain. She shut the door and leaned against it. “I look stupid, don’t I?”

Marian frowned as blood rushed to the tips of her ears and cheeks. Her heart tripped over itself.

She couldn’t stop staring.

“You look …” Gorgeous. Divine. Resplendent. “Fine.”

Tori’s face fell, the cautious hope in her eyes extinguished. “Thank you. ‘Fine’ is exactly what I was going for.”

Marian tried to clear her throat, which was suddenly drier than a desert. “No, I mean … it’s good. You look good.”

Tori crossed the room and flopped down on the bed. “It’s been tailored.” She looked at Marian. “Paul said you’ve worked for Vale for a while. Was he always like this?”

Marian didn’t even know where to start. “You mean was he always this controlling and psychotic? Yes. The kidnapping is new, though.”

Tori cracked a humorless smile as she poked her bare toes out from under the shimmery skirt of her dress. “Nothing about this fit says ‘subtle.’ I can only imagine what he’s going to make you wear.”

Marian’s stomach heaved. Of course Vale would shove them into flashy dresses to taunt his unsuspecting prey. Her mother had turned dresses into torture devices when she was little. Deborah Eaves bought designer gowns for her daughter in sample sizes. They never fit. Her mom could have had them let out, but she made Marian fast to drop weight instead.

If only Vale knew; it’d probably bring him so much sadistic glee.

As if on cue, the door opened without so much as a warning knock. Tori sprang to her feet in a cascade of satin as a solemn-looking Vale appeared in a tower of shadow in the doorway, a black garment bag draped over his arm.

Tori’s eyes ignited with fury.

Vale’s own gaze found hers and simmered with quiet intensity as he strode toward them.

“Feeling better after your tantrum?” Vale asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Tori blinked. “What do you mean?”

Terse silence fell over them. Tori and Vale locked eyes. Ignorance and accusation clashed in a wordless battle.

“Redemption 25-Year costs thirty-six thousand dollars a bottle, Miss Lawson.”