Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
KNOX
The jittery click of the lighter sounded as the flame flickered to life before my eyes.
It vanished again, leaving ink stains in my vision, hiding the reality of the art room beyond. Aside from when I’d caught Thistle snooping, I hadn’t been in here for an age.
This place was filled with paintings of voids, failed attempts at healing, and ones that still tried to swallow my soul when I looked at them.
I blinked as the flame came into dim focus again.
Scratched wooden tables and easels, black canvas after black canvas. A thousand images smothered in darkness?—
Flicker.
The flame came to life again, trying to drag me away, but it failed to obliterate the memories.
I was bound and shivering, laying on that forest floor.
I couldn’t move as I watched a nightmare unfold, until I was handed from the grip of one monster, to the next.
Flicker.
The orange flame burned those images away. Another breath of freedom. Of something between me and the place this had all begun.
And now, there was another truth I now couldn’t escape. A truth that broke everything… I wanted her—needed her. But she had him.
I hated him.
I hated him for knowing all that he knew. For finding me in that forest and seeing, not my suffering, but an opportunity.
I hated, more than anything, that for one insane moment, when I’d shoved the gun against his head today and told him she deserved more, that he’d stopped. He’d stepped back, as if, even beyond the threat I wielded, that was the thing that could have convinced him not to claim her.
Because what that could mean wasn’t something I was ready to face.
But more than any of that, I hated that I’d blown it anyway—pushed him to his cracking point and lost control.
Lost everything.
I could kill him and claim her, but that would mean breaking her. And for some stupid fucking reason, that was off the goddamned table—even though that had been the point.
Break her to break him.
Flicker.
The flame lit again before my eyes, casting the dimmest light on the easels and shelves.
I stared, thinking of how much in here might catch the very flame dancing before me. And like I had a thousand times before, I wondered how easily I would catch it, too.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, dragging me from my pity party.
I flipped it open to find a text.
Callum: Did you reset the cameras? I just got a notification that they’re down.
I frowned at the words, opening the security feed, faint alarm bells sounding in my mind. A reminder of what Doyle had said this evening.
That was why I’d been looking for her. To make sure she was safe…
I opened the security feed on my phone, then froze.
There was something wrong.
The security app cycled through the cameras if one wasn’t selected, but right now the feed was black.
I glanced at the bottom to see the label: ‘Front_drive’.
It flicked to another feed, which was live, but ice slid down my spine, as, right before my eyes, the feed to the ballroom died.
Shit.
I tapped back to the text from Callum, fingers acting before my mind could catch up.
Me: Lock down.
It could be a glitch, but I wouldn’t risk it, not when they had a safe room they could get into.
I reopened the security app to see the black screen change again. This time, it wasn’t a dead feed, only the grainy black and white video wasn’t in a room I recognised.
It wasn’t in this mansion at all.
My hairs stood on end as the silent video played out before my eyes.
It looked like a small, cluttered apartment kitchen, and within was the blurred image of a woman. She looked familiar. I squinted as she glanced up, then her eyes went wide with terror as she saw who was holding the camera.
The feed skipped, and then she was holding a gun out. She’d retreated to the door I could see she was fumbling for, hand behind her back. Her gun arm darted around as if there were two people behind the camera.
She was desperate.
And then I saw the unmistakable movement of her lifting the gun to her own head, a jolt, and her body began to drop right as the feed went black.
My chest was tight, mind reeling.
I knew her, the short messy curls too familiar to miss: it was Christina. The Beta woman I’d bought and freed—the one who’d started a new life in LA as soon as it was safe to send her off.
That meant someone in the Ring knew I was freeing slaves.
And they were here.
My mind jumped to Thistle.
I reached for my gun before realising I’d left it downstairs.
Shit.
I had to get to her. I crossed the room, fist on the door handle as I typed a text to Rogue.
Me: Hide her.
I had to get downstairs—the basement could be locked down like a safe room.
The message didn’t deliver. I tried again, but the same thing happened. There was a clear ‘no service’ signal on the top of my phone screen.
Fuck…
My thoughts cut off as I stepped out into the dark hallway to find myself face to face with the barrel of a gun.
Behind it, I saw the jagged scar and cruel eyes of Rodrick Banner.
“Times up, Brother,” he drawled, jamming the metal up against my neck. “Bella is done waiting for you.”