Prologue #2
Edward’s gaze ping-ponged between us and the table.
I knew what he saw; two people more than half his age claiming to be prepared to inflict a nightmare of unspeakable pain upon his person.
In the normal world, we’d be psychiatric patients.
But this wasn’t the normal world. This was the Second Circle, where the supernatural world gathered to make deals in blood and pleasure.
“The proprietor of this place knows you’re here,” I said, letting that sink in. “Do not expect him to save you. It would seem that even demons believe in justice, Edward. Or at least in entertainment.”
That’s when the real panic started, as his muffled screams echoed in the stone chamber. That’s when he understood this wasn’t a kidnapping for ransom, a sick joke, or a fucked up kink. The sweet taste of his fear came from the indisputable knowledge that this was not something his money could fix.
Rowan’s fingers traced patterns on my spine, and I had to fight not to arch into his touch. My traitorous body was getting even wetter while discussing murder. I was a symphony of desire and rage that Rowan had learned to orchestrate like a maestro.
“Would you like for me to tighten the rope across his chest?” Rowan asked. “It will make breathing far more laborious for him.” His tone was as professional and calm as his adopted father’s. The absence of arrogance in his voice set an ache deep in my core as I exhaled a shaky laugh.
“You’re infuriatingly hot when you talk like that, you know?”
Rowan leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear. “And you love me for it.”
“I do, but no—not yet.” I picked up my knife again, moving towards Edward with deliberate slowness. “I want him coherent for this part.”
The blade whispered against his shirt, parting fabric without touching skin. I’d gotten good with blades in this life, having taken up the hobby recently thanks to a friend.
“Twenty-four years,” I said, cutting away cloth to reveal pale flesh. “That’s 8,760 days. 210,240 hours. Do you know what I’m going to do, Edward?”
He shook his head frantically, sweat running down his temples.
“I’m going to tell you about yourself.”
I pressed the flat of the blade against his sternum, letting him feel the chill against his heated skin.
“Starting with the day you bought me. You wore a blue suit. Stuart Hughes. Your favorite, I know. The silk tie we stuffed in your mouth is one of your own. Hermès. If memory serves, you’d worn a tie just like that one on the day you bought me.
You’d recently come from lunch, and you smelled like oysters and champagne.
I never understood why you ordered them when you were allergic. ”
His eyes widened. Those were details too specific to be fantasy.
“The auctioneer called me Lot Seventeen. Virgin, unbroken, young enough to train properly.” The words tasted bitter, but I forced them out.
“You paid with cash. I was worth a small fortune. But enough about me,” I continued, pulling the blade away, feeling his heartbeat a staccato of fear.
“In this life, you bought another girl. Several other girls.”
I set the knife down and picked up something worse: a photograph. One of the items the proprietor had provided along with information on Edward himself. A girl, maybe twelve, standing in what looked like a warehouse. The fear in her eyes was as familiar as a mirror.
“Remember her?” I held it where he could see. “Purchased six months ago. “They aren’t at either of your properties, so where are they?”"
He made sounds behind the gag. Denial or confession, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care. I was struggling to remain calm, impatient for his death, the folder of photos a heavy burden in my quest for vengeance.
“We will find her,” Rowan said assuredly. “My volchok is very patient when she is properly motivated.”
That’s generous. Patience was not my virtue; it was Rowan’s. But rage could substitute for patience when properly channeled.
I straddled Edward’s lap, feeling him try to shrink away. Impossible with how Rowan had tied him. Every movement just drove the ropes deeper.
“You’re going to tell us everything,” I whispered, my lips close to his ear.
“Every girl. Every client. Every supplier. And then, when you’ve confessed it all, when you’ve given us names and locations and account numbers.
. .” I licked his earlobe. “I’m going to enjoy watching you get dismembered piece by piece. ”
Behind me, Rowan made a sound of approval.
I climbed off Edward’s lap, my body humming with adrenaline and arousal as I turned my heated gaze to Rowan. His slight nod said he was ready. My subtle smile said I was grateful.
“You see, Edward,” I began, pulling the only remaining wooden chair in the room from the wall over to him, “Your story doesn’t begin with us abducting you. It doesn’t begin with those ropes, or this room, or the moment you had to realize that your money means nothing to me or to this place.”
Rowan moved behind me, and I leaned back into his strength, drawing power from his presence.
“Your story begins with mine,” I continued.
“With a nine-year-old girl who disappeared. A girl whose family searched for years, never knowing if she was alive or dead. But that girl grew up,” I said, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper, “So you killed her. . . And when she came back, when she found herself again with all those dark and gristly memories intact, do you know what she did then, Edward?” I knew he could see the madness and purpose in my eyes as I whispered, “That girl decided that some sins transcend death, especially here in the Second Circle, where impossible things breathe in the shadows.
“So, we’re going to tell you a story,” I said, settling back in my chair with Rowan’s hands resting on my shoulders.
“A story about two people who shouldn’t exist, hunting a man who shouldn’t be allowed to live.
A story about what happens when the universe makes a clerical error and gives survivors a second chance. ”
I smiled and Edward flinched as my voice took on the cadence of a bedtime story. “How every choice you made led you here. How every girl you bought, every life you destroyed, every scream you ignored wove the taut rope that now holds you in that chair.”
Rowan’s thumbs pressed into the knots of tension in my shoulders, and I had to suppress a moan. His reminder that even here, even now, he could make my body sing.
“But most importantly,” I said, “We’re going to tell you what comes next. After your confession. After the names. After you’ve given us everything we need to find every girl you’ve touched in this life.”
I reached out and stroked his face gently, feeling him try to jerk away.
“We’re going to tell you exactly how you die, Edward. And then we’re going to make it happen.”
The stone walls of the Second Circle seemed to lean in, listening. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the candlelight, things that weren’t quite human stirred with interest.
“Shall we begin?” I asked.
“Once upon a time,” I began, my voice sweet as honey, “there was a little girl who trusted the wrong person. But don’t worry, Edward. This story has a happy ending.”
I smiled wider, showing all my teeth.
“For me, at least.”