Chapter 5
Valentina
Soft morning light slips between the half-closed blinds. It lands across Brax's bare chest, showcasing every ridge of sculpted muscle and his green O'Malley tattoo.
It's ironic. He sleeps like death isn't hovering inches from his throat, calm, worriless.
Reckless man.
Reckless men usually die young.
Is he going to cooperate?
The fear I won't just lose my seat at the table but my life, sparks in my gut. I inhale slowly, matching his breath, wondering how he can be so damn calm.
I study him with my arms crossed, waiting for him to rise with his fists clenched, ready to take me out. But his chest rises with steady, unapologetic breaths that belong to a baby, not a man in a life-or-death situation.
It's time.
The Underworld sent its last reminder two hours ago, and nothing about its merciless, cold words surprises me.
Deadline expires at dawn. Fall in line or fall in blood.
He rolls slightly, the shift revealing more of his abdomen beneath the sheet.
Heat flickers low in my stomach at how infuriatingly perfect he looks when he's unaware of his surroundings.
His relaxed, broad shoulders, stubble-shadowed jaw, and lips slightly parted would make it easy for me to take him out, or slide next to him and throw responsibility out the window.
Don't get distracted.
My seat at the table hangs by a thread, and here I am fighting the urge to trace the path of sunlight across his skin.
Pathetic.
I loudly clear my throat.
His lashes twitch before his eyes open slowly, hazy for a moment, then sharply aware. His gaze locks on me with a mixture of confusion and irritation that quickly morphs into something smug.
"Morning, Minx," he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. "Didn't expect a wake-up call from you." He stretches in a long, lazy motion that sends every muscle in his torso flexing.
My pulse misbehaves. I school my expression into ice. "Glad you could join the living world. You owe the Underworld a choice."
"A choice," he repeats, scrubbing a hand along his jaw. "Right. The live-or-die one."
The sheet shifts lower as he sits up. He doesn't bother adjusting it or hiding half of his morning wood.
My eyes drift, but I pull them back up to his, noting, "You're surprisingly calm for someone on a clock."
His arrogance mixes with a lewd expression. "I don't panic before breakfast. And you standing in my bedroom… Well, I can't lie. It's a decent way to start the day."
"Get out of bed," I order, fighting a smile.
"Maybe I'll negotiate from here."
"You lost the right to negotiate the moment you refused to listen yesterday."
He smirks, like he enjoys provoking the sharpness in my tone. "You came to kill me, sweetheart? Or to stare at me while I sleep?"
I step closer, glaring harder. "I'm here because you're out of time. You can choose obedience or prepare for the consequence."
His smirk fades. "So you think you can kill me?"
I don't flinch. "If needed."
His expression turns into calculation. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He studies me in a slower, deeper way.
"Don't underestimate me," I warn.
"You're cold, Minx."
"You think this is easy for me?" My voice stays calm, but truth edges through. "If you fail, the blame lands at my feet."
Brax's expression shifts a fraction. It's enough to tell me he finally understands the cost to him and me, even though he has no idea about my future seat at the table.
"Go ahead, then. Do what you need to do." He rises, naked as a jaybird, and struts into the bathroom.
I gape at him.
Pull it together!
The sound of water hits my ears. I lunge into the bathroom. "What are you doing?"
He turns his head, smirks, and taunts, "Taking a shower. Want to join before you kill me?"
"This isn't a game!"
"So you've said, Minx." He steps behind the glass, and water drips over his silhouette.
My heart thumps hard against my chest cavity. I debated taking him out in the shower for too long.
He turns the water off, glides the door open, and reaches for a towel.
I swallow hard, keeping my eyes on his.
He challenges, "Well? Why haven't you done it yet? It would have been nice and clean in the shower."
I glare at him harder.
He wiggles his eyebrows and adds, "Ah. So you want me to live."
I lie. "No. I want you to decide."
A slow, maddening smile erupts across his lips. "You're looking at me like you're hoping I'll choose yes."
I lift my chin. "Say the words, Brax."
He lunges across the bathroom, slides an arm around my backside, and lifts my chin. "You think you have power over me?"
My core turns to fire. I declare, "You're seconds from losing your life. Stop testing my patience."
He searches my face with an irritating cockiness pinned on me.
Heat coils low in my stomach.
He softly chuckles, then releases me. He walks out of the bathroom and into his closet. He calls out, "Fine, Minx. Have it your way. I choose to live today."
A rush of relief slams through my ribs. I step into the doorway. "Good decision. Get dressed and we'll begin."
Brax tugs a T-shirt over his face, still naked from the waist down, his morning wood at full mast. He meets my gaze. "You don't smile."
It flusters me. "Yes, I do."
"Do you?"
"When it's warranted."
He steps into a pair of gray sweats, then positions himself in front of me. "Maybe this cult stuff has made you lose your happiness."
I freeze.
Has it?
No.
"Stop trying to play with my head. It won't work."
"You can play with my head." He wiggles his eyebrows.
"You wish," I sing, smile big, then step back to regain control. "You'll be tested today. I suggest you take it seriously and cooperate when needed. It's mandatory."
He keeps his gaze defiant and hungry. "If you want cooperation, Minx..." He lazily slithers his gaze over my body, then returns to mine. "You'll have to earn it."
My pulse stutters. My ambition claws upward in warning. I firmly state, "I've already earned it."
"Earned what?"
"My place."
"Your place?"
"In the Underworld...my level," I clarify.
"And what's at the top? Eternal salvation?"
A laugh escapes me.
"Ah. She laughs."
I slowly inhale and exhale, then offer, "A seat at the table of the Omnipotent, or Omni, is the highest honor you can get."
"Shouldn't you aspire to be queen or something?" he asks.
"Good question."
"Well?" He arches his eyebrows.
I shake my head. "I'm not destined to be queen. But my blood right is a seat at the table."
He prods, "Then why do you have to earn it?"
"Because Sean's father didn't believe in handouts. Every position, every privilege, every breath you take has to be earned," I relay.
"It all sounds stupid," he comments.
"It's not. And you'll come to understand it all," I assure him.
He rolls his eyes. "If you say so, Minx."
I fold my arms. "You may think the Underworld is stupid, but it doesn't care what you think. It only cares that you fall in line."
A dark, disobedient expression falls over him. He grinds his molars, looking at me like he wants to kill me.
"It is what it is," I say in a softer tone.
He looks at the ceiling, then back at me. "Then start teaching me. Isn't that your job?"
I stay silent.
He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over that maddening chest. "What's lesson one? Bowing? Saluting? Or chanting some creepy Omni hymn?"
"You use humor to cover your fear."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
He raises a brow, unfazed. "Show me why."
Hot blood flows through my veins. I turn sharply and walk out of his room.
He follows me, close on my heels. "Scared to show me?"
I go directly to the place I prepared last night. It's a space no one should ever be comfortable entering.
I step into his laundry room and open a newly installed panel.
"What the fuck?" he mutters.
I punch in a code. A near-invisible vertical seam in the wall opens.
Brax steps next to me. His tone is more curious than angry. "What the hell is this?"
"Your mentorship."
I step inside first.
He hesitates for all of two seconds, then comes after me.
The door seals shut with a hydraulic hiss behind him, cutting off the outside world.
The space is small, windowless, and cold. The concrete walls echo. The rubber floors only have a single steel chair bolted to the ground. And one lightbulb hangs overhead, barely bright enough to see.
He scans it all slowly. "You put a torture room inside my house?"
"It's a training room."
"Same thing."
I shrug, smiling. "Call it what you want. But it helps to think of it as a training room."
"Gee. Thanks for the insider information," he chides.
"Sit," I command.
He squints and crosses his arms. "Why?"
"Because if you don't, lesson one becomes a lesson in pain instead of discipline."
He doesn't flinch.
"They're watching. Always. So take your pick, Brax," I order.
He glances to the corner wall where a tiny camera's planted. It's so small you have to look for it. He clenches his jaw.
"Last chance to decide," I warn.
He scowls, then plops down in the chair. The chains rattle faintly as he adjusts his broad frame. He quietly states, "Glad you're enjoying this."
"Who said that?" I question.
"You are," he insists.
I lean down, reach for the steel cuff attached to the armrest, and secure it around his wrist. I whisper in his ear, "This is the only path to see the sun rise tomorrow."
The pulse in his neck jumps.
I add, "If you insult me again, I'll tighten the cuff so it breaks your bones."
He tests it with a subtle tug. It doesn't move. He slowly pins his defiant, pissed eyes on mine. In a neutral tone, he declares, "Don't confuse me for a pussy, Minx. What's next?"
Butterflies dance in my stomach. I keep my breath on his neck. "Lesson one is control."
"Control of what?"
"Your impulses. Your reactions. Your pain. Your tongue. Everything that makes you you," I inform.
"If you wanted my tongue, you could have asked," he says, turning his face so his mouth is next to mine.
A hot, dizzy swirl tightens low in my stomach, flooding me with a pulse I shouldn't feel.