CHAPTER TWENTY
Dean and I returned to Seint Manor just as the limousine was pulling into the circular driveway.
They had the rehearsal dinner tonight. Analise and Benjamin would be getting married tomorrow afternoon.
The reality that she would soon become even more unobtainable, even further out of my reach, sank like a dirty, moss-covered stone in the pit of my gut as I stood in the driveway, waiting for the Seint-Crowley family to exit the vehicle.
Analise was the first to climb out of the car, wearing a deep purple evening gown.
My breath left my lungs with a mournful sigh, as I wished I could go to her and sweep her off her feet, and as if she heard the sound of my tortured thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder in my direction.
Her eyes lingered, their depths full of hopelessness and longing, as her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but even I knew there was nothing that could be said in front of Gerald and Virginia, and so she said nothing and instead hurried toward the open door of the mansion.
I felt like a pauper in her presence, despite the cash sitting beneath my bed.
I knew none of it came anywhere close to the fortune she and her future children would one day inherit.
And still, as inadequate as I felt, my eyes held on to her form for as long as I could, until she disappeared through the doorway and into the house.
Virginia briefly stopped before entering to look in my direction, her eyes warming with interest before her nose wrinkled.
“Your attack dog is a mess,” she said.
The comment was meant for Gerald, and when he looked at me, he only shrugged.
“How can you tell when he’s always dressed in black?”
“You don’t smell it?”
“Smell what?”
“Blood.” Her face contorted like the air was suddenly pungent. “Have him strip down and get cleaned up before he goes upstairs.”
Her eyes once again frisked over the length of my body before she, too, moved along into the house, and I knew she’d be waiting in the guest room for me.
I knew she’d point a gun at me until I did as she’d said—I always did.
It was the same game she always played, and she always won.
Self-preservation was becoming more exhausting by the day, but she knew as well as I did that I didn’t have a choice.
Gerald nudged his head toward the doorway and said, “You heard her. When you’re finished, meet me in my office to collect your payment.”
I clenched my jaw, anger coursing through my veins, but still, I gave him a curt nod and muttered a tight, “Yes, sir.”
Then I went inside, my feet moving as if they were made of lead, knowing my night was far from over, and when it inevitably was, the sun would rise with the shattering of what little was left of my heart.
***
"Big day tomorrow," Gerald announced jovially as I entered his office.
I was freshly showered and in a brand-new suit and gloves, but the cleanliness didn’t stretch skin deep.
I could still feel Virginia’s body on mine, and although I was grateful she hadn’t yet forced my mask off, somehow, I imagined I could taste her through the rubber, as if she’d embedded herself into my flesh.
It made me feel sick.
Everything these days did.
“Yes, I know,” I muttered, unamused and depressed, closing the door and locking it behind me.
"Will you be attending?" Gerald asked, glancing my way.
"No,” I answered without hesitation.
He didn't look at all pleased with that response as I sat across from him and pulled the mask off, grateful for the fresh air on my skin.
"You seriously aren't gonna come to your stepsister's wedding?"
I huffed a bitter chuckle. "She’s not my stepsister."
“Uh … well, actually, yes, she is,” he argued, leaning back. “I married her mother, and you are my son. So, by law, you are stepsiblings. Why the hell don’t you understand that?”
“Well, she isn’t aware of that relation, is she?” I murmured, dragging a hand through my damp hair.
"Hmm …" He sniffed a bit, nodding as he crossed his ankle over his thigh. "This is true. But I don't think that's why you're not coming."
I glanced up at him, entirely unamused with his smirking face. "Oh? Well, Gerald, since you seem to know so much, why don't you tell me why I'm not attending a wedding full of people I don't know?"
He was laughing now, a full-on belly laugh that made his cheeks red and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He slipped his shiny black shoes off as he looked up at me, mirth glinting in his blue irises.
"You don’t wanna watch her sell her soul to a man who isn’t you," he guessed, his brows waggling. "Am I right? Your dead little heart wouldn't be able to handle it."
I said nothing for a moment, but it was that very silence that gave me away.
"Ah, my poor boy," he said, standing. "Fell for the wrong girl, but, hey, that’s all right. Happens to the best of us. You’ll get over it."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to keep my anger under control while my heart thumped wildly in my chest. “I didn’t fall for—"
"It’s all right, kiddo. I already know."
Then he reached beside him and produced a folder, much like the one he’d given me years ago right after Leonard died. He leaned forward and nudged it in my direction as he said, “Go on, take it.”
I reached out hesitantly. “What the hell is this now?”
He shrugged as I grasped the folder. “You’ll have to open it up and see.”
My hands were still as I flipped it open, though the fear thrummed violently within my veins. And then I was looking down at the image of me standing in Analise’s bedroom, mere feet from where she sat on her bed. My breathing escalated, my lungs working overtime as I seethed with red-hot fury.
Is there any room in this house that isn’t under surveillance?
"She wants to marry you," Gerald said, positively gleeful in his response. "Can you believe that? That little two-timing slut wants to leave her fiancé for you, the freak in the mask. She doesn’t even know what you look like!"
He’d been watching. He’d been listening. He knew she wanted to be with me instead. And if he already knew, then what did it hurt to present a question? What was the worst thing that could happen?
"Is what she said true?" I asked, dropping the folder onto the coffee table to look up at him. "Is the whole point of this fucking arranged marriage just to keep your shitty bloodline going and to solidify your position on this insane family tree?"
He considered the question, like he wasn’t quite sure he should answer, but then he nodded. "Partly, yes. And it's not just my family tree either, by the by. It's my brother's as well. The fate that was handed to him was absolute bullshit."
"I didn't know you had a brother," I said, showing him a little of that empathy Leonard had always talked about. "I'm sorry to hear what happened to him."
Gerald seemed taken aback by my condolences. He looked up at me, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, as if it was impossible for me to feel anything but hatred toward him.
"Thank you, my boy. I appreciate that," he finally replied, seeming unsure of the words, even as he said them.
"We weren't very close early on. We had different mothers, and we didn’t really know each other.
But eventually, we started to do business together, and we became friends. He didn't deserve to die."
I had nothing to say to that. I hadn’t known the man, so I couldn't say one way or another what he deserved. However, if he had been anything like my father, then I’d say he’d deserved everything he got. But I could appreciate the friendship and bond between brothers, and for that, I nodded.
Gerald cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Anyway, to put a stop to any questions regarding Analise's little theory—that I would’ve entertained the idea of setting the two of you up—the answer is no. So, get that idea out of your head."
"Why not?" I asked, cold and bitter.
He smiled, tipping his head to consider me for a moment, his eyes roving over my body and toward my hidden face.
"Well, since you asked so nicely, I don’t think I would’ve trusted the two of you together, and plus, I would’ve needed the approval of my wife, and, well …
” He shrugged one shoulder as his voice drifted off, leaving behind more questions in its wake.
“What do—”
“But, damn, that would've been one good-looking kid, right? And you certainly would've treated her better. ‘Cause that Benjamin, boy … he is one twisted little fucker."
The hair rose on the back of my neck as an icy chill trickled down my spine. "What do you—"
He gestured toward the folder, still open on the coffee table. “See for yourself.”
Reluctantly, I reached out to slide the picture of me in Analise’s bedroom aside, revealing another underneath.
And there, frozen in time, was Analise, bent over the sofa in the sitting room—the same room, the same sofa, where she had stitched up my leg—while Benjamin held a knife to her throat and fucked her from behind.
At a glance, one might’ve believed they were enjoying themselves, but upon closer inspection, the tears on her face became noticeable. There was fear in her open eyes and anger on his snarling face.
Revulsion coalesced with a powerful rage as I stared at the image, unable to tear my gaze away.
Never before had I felt such an incredible amount of hatred toward a single human being, and I wished I could hear whatever he was saying to her, wished I could hear her cries, if only to fuel the anger I needed to extinguish his life.
And I will, I silently vowed. I will end him.
What I wanted was to rush out of this room and find the bastard. I imagined plucking his eyeballs from his skull, cutting his tongue from his mouth, and filling his eardrums with molten wax, only to rid him of all other senses before sawing his cock off with a dull razorblade.
I’d shove it down his throat and see what killed him first—asphyxiation or blood loss.