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The car is quiet, and I sense tension between them. “Did something happen?” I ask.
Sasha glances back at me and grimaces. “Brandon.”
“He found out?”
“He knows… something. He and Channing got into it.”
“We didn’t get into it,” he grumbles. “We just had a few words.”
“But you can tell him now,” I say. “Come clean and explain that you want to be together.”
“You’d think?” she grumbles, pressing her head against the window.
“I’ll handle Brandon.” Channing squeezes her knee.
“Have you spoken to Bexley?” I change the subject.
“He’s fine, don’t worry about Easton.”
But that’s the thing, I do worry. I worry about him being at Phillip’s beck and call. I worry that he’ll go too far and I’ll lose him.
I can’t lose him.
I might not know what we are anymore, but he’s still the only guy my heart has ever beat for. If I lose him too, I won’t survive it.
Digging my cell phone out of my bag, I check my messages. But there’s nothing. Trepidation trickles through me as I watch the scenery roll by, and I drop my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes.
My fingers automatically go to my chest, right over my heart where that hideous brand is. It’s like it has roots, coiling through me and wrapping around my organs. So long as it’s there, I’ll always be Cade’s prosapia. I’ll always belong to him.
Anger surges through me like wildfire. Anger at my father and Phillip and Marcus. Anger at them for standing by and letting this happen. Maybe they didn’t know what he was truly capable of, maybe they hoped I could change him, soften his sharp jagged edges, but they knew. They knew he was Gregory Kingsley’s son. They knew enough to give me to him like a lamb to the slaughter and see how things played out.
A decision I will never forgive them for.
The Electi house looms in the distance, only fueling the fire inside me. I’m a prisoner here. Cade is gone, but I’m still captive.
I need to do something, anything, to take back even an ounce of control.
An idea springs to mind, and the second Channing’s car rolls to a stop, I leap out and take off toward the house. The security guards greet me, but I ignore them, blowing through the house like a whirlwind. I hurry to the kitchen and retrieve everything I need before retreating to my bedroom. Not the one I’ve been sleeping in with Bexley.Myroom. The one they gave me to recover in.
Closing the door, I slip into the adjoining bathroom and place the knife down on the counter and then strip out of my hoodie and t-shirt.
The brand taunts me, the skin still ugly and raised. My fingers ghost over it, and a shudder runs through me. They branded me. Marked me like some possession, something less than human. How dare they?
Snatching up the knife, my hand trembles as I bring it to my chest.
“Mia?” Sasha calls from the hall. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” I yell back, my voice surprisingly calm for what I’m about to do. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay, if you need anything just let me know.”
“Thanks.” I wait for her leave and inhale a shuddering breath.
The tip of the knife feels cool on my skin, sending a tremor through me. Gently I drag the sharp edge over the marred skin. It stings, but there’s a burst of relief with every drag of the blade. Beads of blood pool, spilling down my chest as I scratch the brand away, cutting and carving until there’s nothing left but bloody flesh. A sob crawls up my throat, the pain setting in, dousing the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
The knife clatters to the floor, silent tears rolling down my cheeks. My chest burns as I grip the edge of the counter, sucking in ragged breath after ragged breath. I’ve made a mess, a raw, bloody mess, but I feel freer than I have since hearing my name called at the Eligere. Quinctus might call the shots, they might pull all the strings, but they don’t get to take my heart or soul.
“Mia?” Bexley’s concerned voice fills the room, and I still, my eyes wide with fear.
