Chapter 5
Cassius
The cafe is nothing special.
A hole-in-the-wall place three blocks from Purgatory that serves decent coffee and asks no questions.
The owner knows who I am, what I am, and keeps his mouth shut in exchange for protection. Smart man.
I sit in the back corner, watching steam rise from my black coffee and trying to understand why I'm so fucking angry.
Not about David.
He's handled—jaw broken, three ribs cracked, dumped at an emergency room with no memory of how he got there, thanks to the drugs we gave him.
He won't be a problem.
The beating was artistic, really.
Lionel knows how to hurt someone just enough to send a message without creating permanent damage that leads to investigations.
I’m not angry about the journalist, either.
Rebecca Torres had an unfortunate accident last night—brake failure on a winding road.
Tragic.
The story about the judge's murder anniversary died with her.
Vincent handled it personally, which means it's clean. No connections back to us.
No, I'm angry about her.
About Selene.
About how she looked at me when she asked me not to kill him.
Like she had the right.
Like her opinion mattered in my world.
Like she thought she could gentle the monster with soft words and softer touches.
"You forget your place. I don't take orders from toys."
I'd called her a toy. I saw the hurt flash across her face before I walked away.
Good.
She needed to understand what this was.
What she was to me.
Except that's the problem, isn't it?
She's not just a toy anymore.
Somewhere between that first night and last night, she became something else.
Something dangerous.
Something that makes me want things I shouldn't want.
Something that makes me imagine her here, permanently.
In my bed every night.
At my side during meetings.
Wearing my collar like a queen wears a crown.
Fuck.
The coffee tastes bitter, or maybe that's just my mood.
Through the window, I watch normal people living their normal lives.
A woman walks by with her daughter, maybe fifteen, same age Selene was when I destroyed her life.
The girl is laughing at something on her phone, innocent, unaware that monsters like me exist in broad daylight.
Selene isn't innocent anymore.
Hasn't been since that night.
But last night, trying to save David, she showed she still has pieces of that girl inside her.
The girl who tried to save her parents.
Who pressed her hands against bullet wounds, trying to stop the inevitable.
That girl has no place in my world.
My phone buzzes. Peter.
She's awake. Hasn't left the guest room.
Of course, she hasn't.
She's waiting for me to come to her, to tell her she's forgiven, that she can stay.
She's waiting for me to be weak.
I signal the waitress. "Two orders of the breakfast special. One black coffee, one green tea. To go."
She nods, scurries away. Everyone here scurries around me. Everyone except Selene, who stood between me and her ex like she could protect him. From me. The memory makes my jaw clench.
The audacity of it. The stupidity.
The bravery.
She knew what I was capable of.
She’s seen me order violence as casually as ordering coffee.
She’s watched me destroy the Covenant members without blinking.
And still, she stood there, chin raised, and told me no.
No one tells me no.
No one except her, apparently.
Vincent was right. This is dangerous.
She's Judge Deveraux's daughter, and I'm getting attached.
If she ever finds out the truth—no, when she finds out, because secrets like this always surface—she'll try to kill me.
Or worse, she'll look at me with those dark eyes full of betrayal and hatred instead of the worship I've grown accustomed to.
I should send her away.
Give her back her clothes, remove the collar, and tell her to forget this ever happened.
It's the smart move. The safe move.
But I'm not going to do the safe thing. I never have.
Because when I went to check on her at four a.m., she was curled up in the guest bed, still wearing the collar, tear tracks on her face, my name on her lips even in sleep. "Please, Cassius. Don't send me away."
Even unconscious, she begs for me.
And that's the fucking problem.
She's under my skin now, as much as I’m under hers.
In my head.
I closed my eyes last night and saw her on her knees, looking up at me with those dark eyes full of need. Saw her coming apart under my hands.
Saw her standing up to me, defending that pathetic ex.
I've had hundreds of women.
Broken them, used them, discarded them without a second thought.
But none of them looked at me the way she does.
Like I'm salvation and damnation combined.
Like I'm the answer to prayers she didn't know she was praying.
The food arrives, packed neatly in bags.
I pay cash, leave a tip that ensures continued silence, and walk back to Purgatory.
The morning air is crisp, autumn settling over the city like a blanket.
Normal people are heading to normal jobs, living normal lives.
I've never been normal.
Neither has she, not since I made sure of that eight years ago.
Eight years.
She's been broken for eight years because of me.
And now she's mine in ways she doesn't even understand.
The poetry of it should satisfy me.
The judge's daughter on her knees for his killer.
The ultimate revenge.
But it's not enough anymore.
I don't want revenge.
I want her. I want to keep her.
I want to own her so completely that when she finds out the truth, she won't care.
She'll be too far gone, too thoroughly mine to ever leave.
That's what this year will be about. Not punishment.
Preparation.
The building is quiet this morning.
Purgatory doesn't open until late this evening, and the cleaning crews have already finished.
I take the private elevator to my floor, the bags warm in my hands.
She's awake when I enter the guest room.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the dress from last night, wrinkled now.
The collar catches the morning light.
Her hair is tangled, makeup smeared.
She looks wrecked. She looks perfect.
She looks up when I enter, and the hope in her eyes makes something twist in my chest.
"Breakfast," I say, setting the bags on the side table. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
Her voice is hoarse. From crying or screaming my name, I'm not sure which.
"I didn't ask if you were hungry. I said eat."
She reaches for the container with shaking hands.
Opens it.
Stares at the eggs and toast like they might bite her.
"Cassius, about last night?—"
"Eat first. Then we talk."
She picks up the fork, takes a small bite.
Then another.
I watch her throat work as she swallows, remember my hands around that throat, my cock down it.
Three nights of debauchery, and she still looks innocent somehow. Breakable.
But she's not innocent. And I'm the one who broke her.
"I'm sorry," she says between bites. "I shouldn't have?—"
"No. You shouldn't have."
She flinches but keeps eating. Good.
She needs to learn that apologies don't erase disobedience.
"I didn't sleep," she says quietly. "I kept thinking about what I did wrong. How I could fix it."
"And what conclusion did you reach?"
"That I can't fix it. That I ruined everything by trying to be someone I'm not anymore." She sets down the fork, meets my eyes. "I'm not the girl who saves people anymore. I haven't been since I was fifteen. But last night, seeing David, I forgot that for a moment."
Interesting. She's closer to the truth than she knows.
"Tell me what you did wrong. Exactly."
She takes a breath. "I questioned your authority. In front of your men. About someone who was threatening to expose your operation."
"And?"
"And... I showed weakness. Mercy. Things that have no place in your world."
"My world." I lean back in the chair. "Is that what you think this is? My world that you're visiting?"
"Isn't it?"
"If you stay, it becomes your world too. Every brutal part of it. Every violent decision. Every death on my orders would be on your hands, too, because you chose to be mine, knowing what I am."
She meets my eyes. "I know what you are."
No. She doesn't.
She knows the surface—the dangerous man who has an underground empire, who trades in violence and degradation.
She doesn't know I’m the monster who murdered her parents.
The beast who shaped her entire life with two bullets when she was too young to understand what was happening to her.
"You know pieces," I correct. "Fragments. You don't know the worst of it."
"Then tell me."
The invitation hangs between us.
I could tell her right now.
Watch her face transform from hope to horror.
Watch her realize she's been begging her parents' killer to keep her.
Instead, I say, "Last night, you proved you're not ready for the worst of it."
"I can learn. I can be better?—"
"Yes. You can. And you will."
Hope flares in her eyes again. "So... I can stay?"
"I'm extending our agreement."
She starts to smile, starts to move toward me.
I see the exact moment she thinks she's won, thinks she's been forgiven.
"You'll return in one year."
The smile dies.
Her face goes pale. " What? "
"One year from today. You'll come back to Hell, and we'll see if you've learned your place. If you understand what it means to be mine completely."
"A year?" Her voice cracks. "You're sending me away for a year?"
"This is a punishment, Selene." I keep my voice cold, clinical, even as something in me rails against the decision. "You undermined me. Showed weakness. Proved you're not ready for my world."
"I am ready?—"
"You're not." I stand, towering over her. "You're soft. Sentimental. You still have one foot in your old life, making decisions based on who you used to be instead of who you need to become."
Tears fill her eyes, but don't fall.
She's learned not to cry without permission.
Good.
"So this is it? You're just... dismissing me?"
"I'm giving you time to decide what you really want. To become who you need to be if you want to survive in my world." I move to the door. "One year. Use it wisely."
"What am I supposed to do for a year?"