6. Chapter 6
Later that Night
The crew was gathered downstairs for a night of debauchery. I had retreated to the safety of my bedroom. The air carried the scent of white birch, velvety rose, and a trace of strawberry nectar. Tiny shadows danced across the black and crimson walls.
Nestled by my side was the only other one in the house not into depravity—Phineas Flynn.
“Should have opted for a black one. That way, your hair wouldn’t stand out so bad,” I whispered to the large tabby cat.
Several golden hairs fell onto the black duvet and my clothes. The rings on my hands glinted in the subdued light as they moved through his fur. Did we name our rescue tabby after a cartoon character?
Yes. Yes, we did. Did the girls miss the context of why I suggested it? In every way possible.
That silly cartoon had been my saving grace after I returned home and retreated into my own little world. I watched it religiously and could quote every episode. There was something comforting about the predictability of it.
You knew the boys would be up to no good, inventing something outrageous, and the older sister would be there trying to bust them. Although I wasn’t the older sister, I don’t know how many times I tried before being taken to bust the shenanigans my own brother and his friends did.
Especially during the summer.
Leaning in closer, I whispered, “Who needs game night when I have you?”
I affectionately scratched behind his head. His eyes were fixated on me, as if he understood each word I said. The mangy rescue we’d chosen had very distinct sounding purrs available in his arsenal.
On rare occasions it was delicate and so utterly silent you had to put your ear against him to hear; then other times it was abrupt and spontaneous, coming in spurts. But my favorite was the one he was giving off now—a thundering, snoring sound—reminding me of a lion.
Every once in a while, he’d get the hiccups and snort. Kinsley liked to tease, saying he was having a “purr-gasm.” Without warning, he turned his head and side-eyed me hard.
“Oh, so now you’re going to start in on me, too? Is that what’s happening here?” My fingers momentarily paused on his back. The damn thing had the nerve to put its paw to my lips as if to say, “You could use a game night, let off some steam.”
I brushed the paw to the side and scratched behind his ears. “Don’t look like that. I’ve come so far. Ask Marcel, he’ll tell you. Or maybe he won’t seeing as we have that patient/client relationship and all. But you can trust me. I’ve made progress. I leave the house every day now.”
He meowed, and with one final side-eye, moved away. Even he didn’t believe it. I leaned back against the fluffy pillows on my bed as my gaze wandered to the ceiling. I counted the pattern of stars I’d painstakingly painted in a glow-in-the-dark paint.
I had another appointment with Marcel coming up.
He was going to ask, and my attempts to start his homework assignment were pathetic at best. It only existed in my head, and the make-believe paper it was written on was scratched through several times over, wadded up, and then smoothed out once again.
“I’m going to make the list, I promise,” I said.
“What list is that?”
I jumped. My heart thudded hard inside my chest as I bolted upright. Pasha stood casually in my doorway, watching me.
“So we’ve stopped knocking now? I could have been changing.”
“No, you lock the door when you don’t want anyone in. It was unlocked and actually ajar. I knocked several times. Maybe you need to get your hearing checked. What lies are you telling, PF?”
He strolled in like he owned the place, and it hit me. I didn’t mind his presence here, even though it was my safe space.
“You going to judge me now, too? Why aren’t you down there giving a strip tease dance or shoving your tongue in some clubbie’s—”
“Pussy?” he asked before plopping down at the end of my bed.
Phineas abandoned me for him. Thank God for low lighting, as my cheeks burned. The thought of him on his knees, face first in a woman’s pussy, flashed through my head. It did strange things to me. I pushed those feelings aside.
“I was going to say mouth…what are you doing here?”
His gaze flicked up to meet mine as he stroked the cat. Mine was drawn to his hands and the length of his fingers. Don’t even get me started on the veins. I gulped.
“I wasn’t in the mood tonight.”
“Oh, poor thing. Was your favorite girl working tonight and couldn’t get off?”
I rolled my eyes. I knew for a fact Kinsley had invited a few extras tonight, one specifically for Sebastian and one for him. Knowing my brother, if it was a couples’ night only, then he’d have two at his disposal and was living the life.
“I’ve plenty of favorites. But like I said, I’m not in the mood.” He shrugged.
I vaguely wondered if it had something to do with the encounter with Hannah earlier today. I didn’t press the issue, but was clearly preoccupied with some deep thoughts. Phineas climbed onto his chest, proceeded to knead it and purr.
Narrowing my eyes, I scoffed. “You know I had high hopes for you when you first arrived on the scene.”
“I know. You expressed them before. I was touched then, and I’m touched now that you care so much. I’m also sorry to have disappointed the princess of Crimson Hall.”
I rolled my eyes. He’d taken to calling my room that due to the color scheme.
“Just because you’ve become an official member—”
Laughter poured from him as he smirked. “Excuse me? I’ve technically been a member since that night at Tori’s old place. You remember that night, yeah?”
His eyes flicked up to mine, and the breath caught in my throat. Did I remember that night? Stupid question. I hadn’t been able to forget that night and not for the reason that a man lost his life, either. No, it was for an entirely different reason.
He was watching with a strange expression on his face. Was he thinking about it as well? Heat stole through my cheeks as I remembered the way he took me from Sebastian and ushered me from the basement of torture. In an instant, I was there.
The pliers slipped from my fingers and clattered against the concrete. The sound barely registered over the sob that tore out of me. It bounced off the walls of that basement, wounded and feral sounding.
“Take her to the car now,” Sebastian barked.
Hands gripped me one second later. I shoved my hair back. Pasha. I sagged into him, the strength that had carried me through the branding draining from my bones all at once.
“I had to,” I choked. “He called Declan a…I had to—”
“Shh.” His arms locked around me. “I’ve got you, Printsessa.” His voice was thick. His accent was heavier than usual, emotion lacing each syllable.
“Counselor,” he called over his shoulder, tone shifting instantly back to command. “Don’t begin without me.”
My boots dragged across the floor as he half carried me out. The metallic tang of blood and burnt flesh clung to the back of my throat. I could still taste the copper from where I’d bitten my own tongue when I pressed the glowing wire down.
The scream Cameron made echoed in my skull. So did the silence that followed. Pride swelled in me—ugly and magnificent. And right beside it? Horror.
I had done it. I hadn’t looked away.
My mind raced, thoughts colliding like colors spilled onto canvas, intersecting, each brilliant hue demanding attention—screaming to be heard. It created a complex backdrop of conflicting emotions.
By the time we reached the top of the stairs, I was shaking.
The interior of Tori’s house blurred in the wake of my tears.
I pressed my face into his side, inhaling the clean scent of him.
It was like an explosive cocktail of vodka mixed with frozen mint.
There were notes of amber and leather. It was rustic and soothing.
Then the night air hit my skin. Outside. The cool wind rushed over me, sharp and clean, cutting through the suffocating heat of the basement. It grounded me and disoriented me all at once.
Pasha didn’t stop walking until we were beside the car. Only then did he turn me toward him. The outside lights on the porch washed over his face in golden shadows. His jaw was tight. That single piece of hair that always curled and flopped in the middle of his forehead softened him.
His eyes searched mine like he was trying to assess damage no one else could see. His hands came up—slow and careful—framing my face.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The pads of his thumbs brushed beneath my eyes, catching my falling tears. His touch was warm and steady. There was nothing clinical about it. Nothing detached.
Once more I breathed him in. I realized it was different. Maybe it was the mix of adrenaline. Or maybe I was insane, but he smelled dangerous. I had to look a mess and maybe even a little crazed because soft words in Russian fell from his lips as he caressed my face.
I didn’t understand a lick of it, but I understood the tone. It was low. Protective. Slightly reverent. Something inside me snapped into focus. I had just branded a man who deserved worse. A man who was going to receive worse before the night ended.
He wouldn’t walk out of that basement. He’d be carried in a body bag and taken to a remote property where he’d be reduced to ash. I had to watch horror unfold when I was a child and had done nothing but endure. Tonight, I had been given a rare opportunity.
And I had run with it. I had taken part. Chose the path. Could I do it again?
My hands slid up Pasha’s chest before I could stop them. My breath came shallow and erratic. My entire body hummed—not just with adrenaline. This was a new sensation for me. Power. Release. Something darker.
His fingers stilled against my jaw. “Bella…” he warned.