Chapter 11
Valentina
The whispers don't stop. They crawl across my skin, acting as fresh kindling for the shame I can't escape.
I knew this day was coming. It was only a matter of time until they'd color my scarred flesh scarlet, solidifying the mark that will never be hidden.
And I'll see it every day in my reflection.
No matter what I wear to hide it, the members of the Underworld will never forget it.
It'll shine bright in the eyes of all who look at me.
My parents would be so disappointed.
Brax's mumble is full of fresh rage. "I'll burn this entire fucking Underworld to the ground."
I want to tell him to be quiet. They're always listening, and every ripple in the air has ears. But my mouth won't open. The pain inside me is greater than the hours I spent under a needle, and if I speak, I might not survive the night.
The world blurs at the edges, and the next thing I know, someone pushes us toward the tunnels. The arena fades behind us. The torches disappear. The chanting dies.
Everything inside me is numb. I'm moving, but I don't feel my feet. I only stay upright because Brax keeps his arm around my waist, leading me away from the predators.
We reach the hallway, and something closes in my chest. Brax helps me into my dress, then puts on his clothes. He tries to guide me, but my knees give out.
Before I fall, he catches me, then picks me up. I put my face against his chest, wishing I could hide.
I'll never be able to.
The blur of the sconces dances through the side of my wet gaze, twisting with us through the tunnels.
Brax speaks, but I can't comprehend it.
The next conscious moment is the familiar scent of air freshener. Then the gentle press of leather against my legs as I lower into the seat.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
Everything is muffled, distorted like I'm underwater and the world's above the surface. Even the vibration humming under me seems strange.
I stare at the window, but it's covered with a mirror. My reflection is blurred. All I see is the bright, scarlet V loudly staining my chest, burning through my dress to mock me.
Brax shifts next to me and strokes my cheek. "Valentina."
I turn and stare at him. Fresh tears glide down my face. My pulse races to the point of dizziness.
He wipes the tears off my jaw and states, "We're home."
"Home?" I ask.
He nods. "Back in Chicago."
I don't move.
"Come on," he gently says, then helps me to my feet. He guides me off the plane.
The cold night air slaps me in the face when I exit the plane. It only pulls me out of my trance for a moment. As soon as I get back into the SUV, I stare out the glass and succumb to new numbness.
"So this is where you live," Brax says quietly.
I blink, realizing I'm in my home. I glance around my living room, but all I see are the red accents.
Just like the V.
My hand flies to my stomach. I used to be so proud of my skull being shaded red. It's only for members of the Underworld that the Omni feel are dangerous in ways rules can't contain. Now, I'm as far from that as possible.
"Nice place. Very classy," Brax offers.
The words tug something inside me. Something sharp and painful. Before I can stop myself, I grab my favorite red vase and hurl it at the wall. It shatters into pieces, flying across the room.
"Whoa!" Brax blurts out.
My voice barely comes out. "You can go now."
"No."
I force myself to meet his gaze. My hand trembles as I point at the door. "Go."
He shakes his head. "Like hell."
I swallow. "Brax…"
"No. I'm staying, Minx." He crosses his arms.
"Suit yourself," I whisper, exhausted, not able to find any fight left inside me. I brush past him and go into my bedroom, then freeze, staring at my pillows.
Why did I put red all over my house?
"Go to bed," Brax murmurs behind me.
"I didn't invite you inside my house," I remind him.
"I never invited you into mine either, Minx." He moves toward the bed, pulls back the comforter, revealing scarlet silk sheets. He wiggles his eyebrows. "Come on. Slide in."
I step closer, my voice wavering. "Please go home."
He reaches behind me, unzips my dress, and pushes it to the floor. He repeats, "Get in bed."
I glance down at the red ink all over my chest. New tears form, so I dive under the covers and push my face into the pillow.
For a moment, it feels safe. Then the mattress dips, and my breath catches.
Brax slides beside me. His chest presses against my back. One arm wraps around my waist. The other tucks beneath my pillow as he curls his entire body around mine.
My voice trembles out, "What are you doing?"
"Sleeping," he whispers in my ear, his breath brushing my neck.
"Brax—"
"Shhh. Just close your eyes." He brushes hair off my cheek.
Something inside me cracks. It's a hairline fracture that's been there for months, finally shattering under pressure.
A sob punches out of my chest before I can stop it.
Then another. Suddenly I'm shaking, crying so hard my ribs ache.
My hands fly to my face, but I can't stop anything.
It's pouring out, uncontrollable and ugly.
I choke out, "I'm scarred. I'm—" My throat closes. "I'm so ugly now."
His arms clamp tighter around me. "Not true."
"It's true. Everyone saw. They all saw—"
"Enough." His voice is rough, commanding, but tender. "You're not ugly. Not scarred in any way that changes who you are."
"You don't know what I look like anymore," I whisper into the sheets.
He grunts. "Sure, I do. I saw every inch of you tonight."
My stomach twists.
He murmurs against my neck, "And you're still the most beautiful damn woman I've ever seen."
I cry harder.
He shifts, turning me gently until I'm facing him. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away tears that keep falling faster than he can wipe.
He leans closer, his forehead touching mine, and demands, "Look at me, Minx."
I can't. I sniffle hard.
He urges again, softer. "Look at me."
I force my eyes open. His gaze burns through the shadows, fierce and warm and agonized all at once.
"You're beautiful, strong, and beyond brave. None of what they did changes that. They don't get the power to define you."
Another tear drops.
He catches it with his thumb. He adds, "Think of it as your superhero symbol."
"What?"
He grins. "All superheroes have a symbol. It's like Wonder Woman's. And everyone knows she's the hottest creature they ever created."
I pin my eyebrows together.
He adds, "Lord knows you're just as hot as Wonder Woman."
A tiny giggle escapes my lips.
His lips twitch. "Ok. Maybe even a tad hotter."
I take a shaky breath.
His eyes search mine like he's trying to stitch me back together with nothing but his gaze. He asks, "You know what I keep thinking?"
I swallow hard. "What?"
"That I've never seen anyone walk through that much hell and still look like they could boss the world around with one raised eyebrow." His mouth tugs up at one corner.
I bite on my lip, gaining better control of my breath.
He declares, "You terrify them, Minx. So they can try to take you down, but they never will."
Warmth wraps around my ribs from the inside. I blurt out, "They can eliminate me at any time."
His thumb makes lazy circles near my ear. "Nah. You're too valuable to them."
"Why would you say that?" I question.
He leans in, his nose brushing mine. His breath becomes a ghost over my lips, hot and steady. He answers, "You've survived their torture. Most others wouldn't have."
My pulse thumps hard in my neck.
His gaze drops to my mouth. He murmurs, "Wonder Woman was always my favorite hero."
My heart trips. "Brax—"
He closes the distance, stealing my breath.
The first press of his lips is careful, almost reverent. It's a question, not a demand, testing if he should or shouldn't continue.
Sparks fly down my spine. My fingers curl into the silk between us.
He tilts his head, kissing me again, slow and unhurried, like he has all morning and he's going to use every second.
I sigh into him, my body betraying me, melting into his chest. He pulls me closer, anchoring me to him. His other hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.
I whimper.
He deepens the kiss. His tongue teases the seam of my lips, a gentle flick that sends a pulse pounding between my legs. I part them without thinking.
He groans, low and rough, and the sound vibrates straight through me as his tongue slides against mine.
Heat explodes under my skin. I clutch at his shirt, needing to hold onto something as he coaxes me into the rhythm he sets. Every slow, intoxicating stroke makes my toes curl under the sheets. Each flick glides deliberately. There's nothing rushed or greedy.
It's the opposite of the night we fucked on stage. He kisses me like I'm precious, like he's ready to wreck me but willing to do it one piece at a time.
My thighs press together, an ache building, sharp and insistent.
His chest rises and falls faster against mine.
I press closer, desperate for more, lifting onto my knees, angling to get nearer.
His shirt brushes my scarred skin.
A new tenderness erupts. It runs right to my core. I gasp in his mouth.
His hand slides down my spine, stopping at the small of my back, splaying wide as he holds me in place. He murmurs, "Easy," though he doesn't stop kissing me.
I slide my fingers through his hair, gripping it tight.
His stubble faintly scrapes along my chin. His teeth nip my lower lip in a quick, wicked tug. Then he soothes the sting with a slow lick.
I moan.
He swallows the sound, kissing me harder for a few seconds. His hand slides along my side, his thumb brushing the outer curve of my breast.
My nipples tighten instantly. A needy little sound escapes me, humiliatingly desperate.
His breath stutters.
For a heartbeat, his grip at my waist tightens, his hips press forward, and his tongue thrusts into my mouth with a raw hunger that steals all my thoughts. Sparks race down my spine. I arch against him, chasing friction, wanting more.