55. Riley
Riley
M y heart slams hard in my chest. “Executioner?”
Dante blinks down at me. “And yours too, Pom, if you don’t leave. Now.”
Leave? What is with him? “I’m not leaving without Mila.”
His expression hardens. The last flicker of warmth snuffed out until he’s nothing but arctic steel. “Then you’re not leaving.”
I blink, head shaking in disbelief. “Yes we are. We’re not sticking around for some stupid auction?—”
He steps closer, cornering me. His tone turns ice-cold. “You don’t understand. Your friend is the auction.”
My breath catches. “What?”
His jaw clenches so hard it has to hurt. “So is every woman left in this room.”
I blink again, still tripping over his words like I misheard him. Mila is the auction.
My stomach twists tight as I look around the room— really look.
The sparkle at every woman’s throat. Their glassy eyes. Their frozen smiles. The way not a single one of them seems present.
And the men. Crowding around them. Blocking their exits.
It hits.
Hard.
So hard, I nearly hyperventilate. I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking breathe.
A sharp, broken laugh tears out of me, high and cracking and wrong.“You can’t just sell women.”
Just saying the words makes me feel unhinged. Like I’m the crazy one.
But then I mentally start counting.
One. Two. Five. A dozen. Two dozen.
All of them wearing bright, pretty diamonds around their throats.
I whip back to Dante. So many emotions unravel across his face.
Grief.
Guilt.
Pain.
Remorse.
And then…cold.
He checks his watch, detached in every way. “In ten minutes, the doors will be locked. Every woman wearing a necklace will be sold.”
Whatever I’m about to say evaporates into thin fucking air. My hand flies to my throat. The absence. The pink diamond necklace that isn’t there.
“You knew?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says, all solemn and broody, as if this suddenly makes him a hero.
I want to fucking scream.
My eyes snap to his, blazing. “Is that supposed to mean something? Like it makes any of this better?”
His voice hits like a whip. “It’s. Fucking. Better. For you, anyway.”
My blood turns so cold, I’m trembling. Unbelievable.
I step close enough to feel the heat off his skin. To spit the words right in his face. “Fuck. You.”
“Look around, Pom. I couldn’t shoot my way out of here if I tried—and for the record, I won’t. I warned you. Over and over. So many times, my damn arm hurts from playing whack-a-mole with your stubborn-ass skull.”
Frustration and tears burn so hot, I swallow the sting in my throat. He’s right. And I fucking hate him for being right. “But you could’ve said something. Warned all of us.”
“You keep chasing demons expecting halos. There are no saints here. Just monsters in thousand-dollar suits to cover the blood.”
I stare, as he rips the world out from under my feet. He’s just going to stand there, and do nothing . Hands shoved in his pockets and helpless while the room fills with fire.
“Help us,” I whisper, every word scraped raw, torn from the edge of begging. Because by this point, I am begging.
Tears streak down my face, unnoticed.
His eyes dim. A light switch flips off in cruel, practiced retreat. “No.”
I turn away—done. Drained. So fucking over him, I’m ready to torch the whole place to the ground.
But his hand shoots out—fingers clamp around my arm, hard. The pressure bites, cutting off the blood flow, forcing me still.
“If you’re leaving, you need to go now.”
Stunned, I look at him. Eyes burning, throat thick.
“I won’t leave her.”
“Then you’ll die with her.”
That’s it.
That’s the fucking line that breaks me.
I snap.
My hand flies before my brain can catch up—a full-force slap that cracks against his cheek like a gunshot.
Which stings like hell. My palm throbs from the pain, but I soak it in and wake the fuck up.
No breath. No words. Just the sick, electric silence after a nuclear impact.
His hand falls from my arm.
Then, I see the glint.
Da’s blade.
Half-tucked in his jacket, like it’s been waiting for me.
My body moves before I think—fingers curling around the handle.
I rip it free and I run.