Chapter 49
The day found us filthy. Actually filthy. We woke up naked, covered in dirt and mud, like we’d lost our minds the night before, or werewolves after a full moon, except without the excuse.
I’d never experienced anything like it in my life, and somehow, against all logic, it was one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. Maybe even the best.
He walked into the mansion commando, covering just his dick, pulled on a pair of pants, grabbed a blanket, came back, wrapped it around me, and carried me inside, princess style.
This man … he goes from being a complete savage to a prince without warning.
He remembers everything, which makes the situation stranger than I thought. I wasn’t with a different person. I was with a different version of the same one.
Later that same evening, after spending the most normal day we’ve had since we met, we’re sitting in the living room, cuddling and chatting like a normal couple. Whatever that even means. At least, that’s what I think normal couples do.
We tease each other, tickle each other, make out for a while—carefully, because we live in a house full of people—and somehow end up joking around.
Every time his fingers slide over my skin—my shoulders, my arms, my neck—I feel a jolt. Besides, the thin straps of my top leave most of my back exposed.
My knees weaken every time I see the faint dimples in his cheeks, every time he gives me one of those smug-ass smirks I still can’t resist. My heart beats faster as the days pass, or every time his eyes search the room, every time they find me, and every time they brighten when they do.
What the hell is this feeling?
“There’s a very serious question I’ve been dying to ask you for so long,” I say playfully, pulling my feet onto the couch and sitting cross-legged beside him.
“I’m intrigued, little orchid,” he says, leaning back. “Ask.”
“Why Mickey?”
He gives me an eyeroll. “Seriously?”
“I mean, why not Batman, or Superman?” My eyes flick. “Or Winnie the Pooh?”
He snorts. “Because I’m not eight, I don’t like capes, and I’d rather die than explain a Winnie the Pooh tattoo.”
I scoff. “Bold words from a man with a cartoon mouse permanently inked on his skin.”
“Didn’t stop you from staring.” He shrugs.
I lift a shoulder. “I never said it did.”
He leans in closer and grips my chin between his fingers. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”
I don’t reply, letting the silence settle between us. It isn’t awkward. It isn’t empty.
He’s changed. Not completely—just enough that I notice if I think about it. I still see the man I met in the way he jokes, the way he smirks, the way that annoyingly cocky smile slips onto his face like he’s about to say something he definitely shouldn’t and absolutely will anyway.
I don’t know if it’s because of me, or this house, or just time doing its thing …
Actually, that’s not true.
I do know it’s me.
I can see it in the way he’s different now—in the way he becomes the Bane he keeps hidden inside, just to protect me.
The way he looks at me.
The way he smiles for me, at me, and because of me.
I didn’t really see it happening while it was unfolding, but I see it now.
I know what I did, what I changed. And I fucking love it.
I never cared if he stayed the same. I liked him then, but this—this version of him—is mine in a way the others weren’t.
His eyes move over my face until they stop at my mouth. His thumb brushes my lower lip as he bites his own.
“Put it back in, Ken doll,” Cain drawls, dropping onto the black leather armchair across from us, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
I bite down on my lip and look away.
Adam lets out a low grunt, annoyance flashing across his face before he finally pulls back. He leans into the couch. “You always had perfect timing.”
“One of my many talents.”
Adam’s eyes roll back. “Still a pain in the ass. Still convinced everyone needs your commentary.”
Cain takes a slow sip of his whiskey. “Someone has to keep you from embarrassing yourself.” He lifts his glass slightly in my direction. “Consider this a public service.”
I arch a brow. “I didn’t realize I’d asked for one.”
Adam’s eyes widen in surprise. “She bites.”
Then, slow, measured footsteps interrupt our otherwise pleasant ambiance. Judas walks in, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning the room.
“Bless our humble reunion, Father,” Adam jeers, his feet crossed on the living room table as he leans back further into the couch.
“Language,” Grayson growls, walking right behind him.
“So,” Judas says dryly, eyes scanning the room, “I see you didn’t start without me.”
Adam’s lips curl into a smirk. “I’ll take that as an ‘I’m in.’”
I have too many questions.
Judas is a priest. Supposedly humble, meant to guide, to keep his hands clean. A shepherd of God, or whatever the hell priests are supposed to be.
And yet he came here again.
Which means he knows exactly what this place leads to. Blood. Violence. Things that don’t wash off with prayer. And he walked in anyway, calm, unbothered, like he’s already made peace with it.
Adam said he used to be in the army. Deployed everywhere. Wars people only talk about in headlines. A commander his men trusted, followed, looked up to when things went wrong, but also feared for the exact same reason.
Then one day he quit and traded the uniform for a collar and never told anyone why.
Now he’s here, standing in the middle of it all, looking like none of this surprises him.
So whatever drove him out of the army and into the church wasn’t redemption.
It was something darker.
His dark gaze falls on me, raising the hair on my nape.
“Her father is a monster,” he says evenly. “Going against him is the same as signing your own death sentence. He doesn’t forgive. He doesn’t forget.”
His voice stays level, almost indifferent, and that’s what makes my skin crawl. My throat tightens, but I don’t interrupt. I don’t dare.
“Anyone who stands in his way ends up buried,” he continues calmly, eyes still on me. “If they’re lucky.”
Cain snorts and sips his scotch. Something cold sinks into my stomach.
“So why help him?” I ask, folding my arms. “If you know you’re walking into a death trap.”
“Because he won’t stop.” His eyes flick to Adam. “And neither will I.”
I scoff. “He’s dragging it out. If he wanted us dead, we’d be dead already.”
Cain swirls the whiskey in his glass. “That’s how he likes it. Close enough to remind you he’s there. Quiet enough to make you wonder why he hasn’t pulled the trigger.”
“Your father always knew where people were. Didn’t matter how careful they were,” Judas adds.
Silence settles in.
He’s right. My father always knew where I was. Even when I ran away and Wes and the others lost me, they eventually found me.
I still don’t understand how he does it or how he knows everything. I only know he never fails.
Adam’s eyes widen, like something just clicked. He jolts up from the couch and reaches for my hairpin.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, startled.
He doesn’t answer. He pulls the pin free, drops it to the floor, and crushes it under his heel until it shatters.
“Why did you do that?” I snap, irritation cutting through the shock. Damn it, it was my favorite.
He crouches down and examines the shattered pieces. “No bug,” he mutters under his breath.
Cain stands, and along with Judas, they walk closer, intrigued.
Adam’s eyes flick. “Unless he …”
Grayson frowns. “He what?”
Adam scoffs. “Jesus Christ.”
“What is it, Adam?” I ask.
He looks at me, jaw tight. “He wanted to sell you, and he’s been planning it since you were born.” The veins on his neck pop. “You don’t track someone you give a shit about. You track something you can’t afford to lose.”
His voice drops. “If you ran, he’d know. If someone grabbed you, he’d know. If it was time to cash in, he’d fucking know.” He shakes his head once. “That was keeping tabs on his investment.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice barely steady.
He grabs my arms and spins me around. His fingers find the scar on my shoulder blade and trace it slowly.
“When did this happen?” he demands.
My stomach tightens. I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”
His hand stills, and the pressure of his fingers feels heavier. “How did you get it?”
I swallow. The answer comes too easily, which scares me more than not having one. “I don’t know.”
Silence stretches. My skin prickles under his touch—not because of where he’s holding me, but because I realize something is missing. Memories should leave marks. This one didn’t.
He pulls the knife from the holster strapped to his thigh and turns me to face him.
“You need to hold still.”
My breath stutters. How could … My own father …
“How could he …?” My voice comes out thin.
“Because he’s fucked in the head,” Adam spits, his eyes darkening.
I hesitate, my eyes landing on each one of them. I swallow.
“Are you sure about it?” I ask, even though my chest already feels tight.
Adam’s jaw clenches. The knife doesn’t lower.
“No.”
Grayson steps forward, voice steady. “I’ll do it.”
Adam snaps his head up. “Get the fuck away from her. All of you!” He hesitates, turning his eyes to the scar. “If I’m right … this is the only fucked way to know.”
My breathing goes shallow, my pulse hammering so hard it makes me dizzy. It’s not the pain I’m bracing for. Pain is simple.
I’m afraid of what he’ll find.
Because if there’s something inside me, something my father cut into me to leave behind, then I was always a part of his sick plan.
And that means he’s far more fucked up than I ever let myself believe.
“Do it,” I say bluntly.
“Your girl has balls,” Cain mutters dryly.
I kneel on the couch, elbows pressed into the backrest.
“Do it,” I repeat.
Adam comes closer, looming over me, the knife still raised in his hand.
Grayson tries to speak again, his voice cutting through the room. “You don’t have to—”
The blade comes down on my shoulder blade.
I scream as soon as it breaks the skin. The sound is loud, pulled straight out of me. Pain explodes across my back and knocks the air from my lungs. My vision blurs. The room starts to spin. My ears buzz so loud it drowns everything else out.
I can’t tell what’s happening around me. I don’t know if anyone is talking. I don’t know if Adam is moving the knife or holding it still. I can’t focus on anything except the pain tearing through me, swallowing every thought whole.
“Ah, it hurts!”
My head drops forward. I can’t hold it up anymore. My vision keeps blurring in and out, dark at the edges. The buzzing in my ears gets louder, swallowing the room.
Adam’s fingers press into my shoulder, and he adjusts his grip. “Hold still,” he says, calm enough to make my stomach turn. “This part is going to suck.”
Grayson is behind us, debating whether to step in. “Adam. That’s enough.”
Adam doesn’t look at him. “It’s not enough until it’s out.”
The knife moves again, and my breath catches and then breaks. I make a sound that doesn’t even feel human, and my hands claw at the couch.
Grayson’s voice cuts in again. “She’s going to pass out.”
His fingers close around something, and the second he grips it, my stomach drops. He pulls, and the pain spikes so hard it punches the air out of me.
Tears flood my face.
“Adam,” I blurt, voice breaking. “Did you …?”
“That motherfucker,” he says through clenched teeth.
I turn around, and the second I see the small piece of metal in his hand, everything inside me goes still. The pain in my back dulls.
It’s real. It was inside me. He did that to me.
Adam’s eyes turn dark and feral.
Everyone around us is still silent, waiting for him to explode.
His face goes blank, like something inside him has been switched off, and what settles in its place is darkness. Pure and immense darkness.
“I’m going to rip his fucking spine out.”