Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Stone
My skin prickles with awareness, and when I lift my head from staring at my lap, I find Azrael’s dark eyes trained on me. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his sharp features are etched in something akin to guilt. Realizing my attention is on him, his Adam’s apple slides down his throat, then he slowly turns his head toward the city whizzing by. I drop my head once again and find solitude within myself. I’m well aware my coping mechanisms are somewhat odd to some, but they’re mine.
Leisurely, I trail the tip of my finger over the lines on my palm, following the veins and grooves of my skin, reminding me I’m here and alive. It’s one of the few parts of my body untouched and unscarred by evil, and with it comes a stark reminder of Sienna and her gentle touch, which provides a sanctuary to my heightened state of anxiety. It allows me to breathe and remain impassive as we make our way toward hell.
“I enjoy following the lines on your palm. They’re a path to your future.” She smiles as she does just that.
“Yeah? What’s my future looking like?” I smirk.
“Happiness.” She smiles wider, and I wish I could mirror it, but how can it be filled with happiness when it won’t have her in it?
When we finally pull up outside the mansion, a chill ripples up my spine.
Fuck, I hate this place.
Absolutely. Fucking. Hate. It.
When the car comes to a stop, it feels like a blade is twisted into my heart, and I will the sins to bleed out among the sinners here tonight. I curse with frustration at being back here so soon and knowing no vengeance will come. Nobody can save the victims here tonight, least of all, me. “Fuck.” My disproval comes louder than I intended, and Azrael’s attention slices to me. I run my sweaty palms over my head and take a breath. The vein in my temple twitches, and for once, I relish the bite of pain reverberating down the side of my face.
When we step out of the vehicle, I tug on the hem of my suit jacket, gathering the strength to step foot in here as if it’s a normal night out. As if young men and women are not being traded like cattle for the pleasure of others.
Our father’s loud chuckle is a testament to his giddiness as he slaps Vector on his back while they continue a private conversation in hushed voices. I glance over at the sprawling estate, trying and failing to figure out who some of these people are.
I spend my time doing this a lot, getting lost in faces, seeking familiarity, searching through a sea of people for her face. The woman in my dreams twisted with my nightmares.
We make our way up the stone steps of the grand house that holds the auction, and I pray to a god I no longer believe in that they help the poor soul my father’s evil claws sink into tonight. Death will be their haven, and I will it to come sooner rather than later for them.
Vector eyes me with a twisted gleam, and I straighten my shoulders to feign indifference, hating the way his hungry eyes unsettle me. Azrael steps in front of me as if purposely blocking his view, and I seek my brother’s back like a coward and lower my head before stepping inside.
The nostalgia of the place hits me like a crack of a whip slashing through tender skin, and I repress the sob catching in my throat when my eyes meet the cattle prod proudly displayed on the wall like a sick trophy.
“Fuck, I love this place,” Vector declares, spinning on his heels to face us—to face me.
I lift my head, and his gray eyes drill into mine, cutting through me like butter. I fucking wish I was strong enough to hold his gaze, but I glance away, unwilling to give him a reaction. Not when I’m unable to act how I wish to. “The prod brings back such wonderful memories, wouldn’t you agree, Stone?”
I freeze.
He’s goading me, so I clamp my mouth shut, knowing my place. If I respond, I give him reason for retribution, and I won’t do that.
My mind spirals with memories of Vector using the cattle prod on me. His twisted laugh caused a shiver of fear to spear through me, leaving me incapacitated and for his taking.
His words haunt me from one brutal punishment. “We need to make the pleasure last for as long as possible.”
Taking a deep breath, unwilling to take that trip down memory lane, I turn toward Azrael and find his jaw tense, his teeth grinding hard and his focus glaring into a completely oblivious Vector. The bastard’s focus is solely on me, awaiting my reaction, and I refuse to give him one.
“Cat got your tongue, Stone? You’ve chewed through it enough, huh?” His chuckle blends with our father’s, and I wonder if I’m the entertainment for tonight.
“I didn’t put you down as being into men, Vector. You’re sure showing a keen interest in my brother. You do realize the Mafia doesn’t tolerate gays, right?”
My eyes bulge, then I blink several times at Azrael’s words. It’s the first time he’s ever spoken out for me and acknowledged the abuse I suffered growing up despite being present during some of it.
A stare off settles between them. A line feels drawn, and it does nothing to appease the trepidation rushing through my veins as every warning light goes off in my brain.
They’re no longer allies. They’re enemies, and the thought is terrifying.
“Just a little fun, Azrael. Don’t be so accusing.” Our father laughs awkwardly, then slaps Azrael on the back as if trying to dispel the tension building between his son and right-hand man. “Besides, a tight ass is a tight ass, right? What’s it matter who it belongs to?” He chuckles to himself.
His words play on repeat in my mind as we make our way toward the viewing room, each step heavier with dread because worse than seeing the instruments used to brand, tarnish, and degrade innocent victims, is seeing the terror etched on their horror-stricken faces.
“Sirs, your table is reserved.” The soft voice of a collared girl pulls my gaze. Her eyes are trained on the floor, and I’m grateful for it. The last thing I need is to see the pleading in her eyes, especially after they no doubt mirror mine.
We all take our place, and I scan the table as our usual drinks are brought to us. Our father studies the faces of the auctioned victims displayed on the tablet with limited information about their previous lives. Age, sex, characteristics and features, and I turn my head away when he begins his selection process.
Azrael stretches out his legs, looking as relaxed as ever, and I wonder what part my brother plays in these twisted games. How deep does his evil run?
I know he likes submissives, and I can only imagine how brutal he is with them. There’s no way the savagery ingrained in his veins doesn’t spill over into his sex life.
Vector stares at him, a calculated look on his face that sends my blood cold.
I’m not sure what Azrael was thinking. I’ve never known him to refute Vector, and the thought of him being in harm’s way because of me sends a guilty tremor through me and the familiar pain lancing through my temple.
As if sensing my discomfort, Azrael glances my way, then toward Vector. Then a smirk plays on Azrael’s lips, and he takes a casual swig of his brandy. “Show’s about to start. Oh, and look, males are up first.” He points toward the stage and grins into his glass. The accusation is clear, and I can feel the fury vibrating off Vector like a hurricane gathering momentum.
I don’t know what game my brother is playing, but it’s a deadly one.
Blowing out a deep breath, I down my drink and try to relax back into the winged-back chair.
The sooner this night is over with, the better. Too many memories are held here, and not a single one of them is good.
As the commentator announces the first tortured soul to the stage, I zone out and become lost in thoughts of Sienna. My fingertip finds the path of proof of life on my palm instead of dwelling on the evil surrounding me.