11. Luna
LUNA
It takes three days for Thorne to procure both women. And though they arrived no more than a couple hours ago, at least one of them has made a fuss.
I climb the polished marble steps to the Bower, my hand brushing the steel railing. Modern and sleek, recently renovated. Special. No expense was spared for our new members.
A deep voice bellows as I open the door, masculine pain booming in the vast, mostly empty sitting room.
Thorne.
His growl sounds down the hallway, but I take a moment to sweep my eyes over the room, furnished just yesterday.
Two rocking chairs big and comfortable enough for a woman with child.
A coffee table with a thin vase holding a single orchid, a leather-bound copy of Little Women carefully placed by its side.
In the second drawer of my desk is a catalogue with the same bookshelf positioned near the fireplace; the same white rug lies over stained oak floors.
Perfect.
Farther into the house, someone screams. Feminine.
A door slams.
My hands cup behind me as I make my way down a hallway and turn a corner to find Thorne with his back pressed against a door and his hand cupping his face.
“What happened?”
He jerks his head toward me with fury in his eyes. As though I’m to blame for whatever just occurred—which, to Thorne, I probably am. Lately, it seems we’re in a constant state of unease.
As I approach, the red, nasty stripes across his eye only seem to worsen. Lines of red hint at blood, but only a drop has bubbled on the tip of one welt.
My lips sag as I look at the door. “I don’t suppose they’re taking this well…”
“It’s the one,” Thorne grinds.
“She gave you an especially hard time in Spain, didn’t she?”
He takes my arm and guides me to the hallway monitor that displays all five rooms. Stabbing at the controls, he brings up both women side-by-side.
One of them is sitting on the lone mattress, rocking back and forth.
The other is pounding on the door, her mouth moving furiously as her face twists. Hair sticks to her sweaty forehead.
The doors are reinforced, and the walls are padded, but it’s nice to know it’s fully soundproofed.
“I’m sorry, my love.” Thorne stiffens as I reach up gently, but he doesn’t pull away when I caress his cheek bone, just below the scratch. “I’ll send for Mr. Hansley. He warned us of this.”
A bitter grin spreads across Thorne’s face. He scoffs and rips away from me, taking a step back as his arms cross. “You are putting an embarrassing amount of faith in that swine.”
“He tamed the same woman once before… This is foreign. It’s scary. It’ll take time to adjust, for all of them. Have a bit of compassion.”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Compassion?”
I open my mouth, but can’t bring myself to argue further.
He never used to question my judgment.
“I’m sorry about your face, my love.” I allow myself a deep breath before walking away to send for Sawyer.
“You’re blind to him.”
My steps pause, but I don’t turn around.
“You’re blind to him, and everyone but you knows it. He probably picked girls he knew would sabotage your mission. If you’d let me choose the women, my face wouldn’t look like this.”
I stand still and push a breath out slowly.
Thorne could be right. I try to focus on that; try to weigh the odds of Sawyer intentionally choosing women who won’t work.
The odds are great. And if he did, unfortunately, I’ll have to kill them. Maybe then he’ll choose wiser.
But I hardly consider it. Not yet. I’m too caught by the first thing Thorne said.
“Everyone but me knows?” My voice is strong, though my heart feels weak.
Thorne doesn’t answer, but I don’t think it’s because he’s smart enough to keep quiet. I think it’s because he believes he has me. That finally, I’ll see reason.
I turn. “Tell me, which of my sisters are you referring to? Aurora? Echo?”
“People talk, Luna.”
“Mmm.” I nod slowly and take my time walking back to him. His glare softens more the closer I get until guilt starts to show on his face. He swallows, and his shoulders push back as he tries to right himself.
“You should work on your jealousy, Thorne. It doesn’t suit you.”
After lingering on his face another couple of seconds, I turn and head for the door. “Go home. You’re finished for the day.”
Say hello to Echo for me.
He hesitates—briefly. Too brief.
Heavy, familiar steps storm past me without Thorne turning to tell me goodbye. Whether it’s anger or guilt that keeps his eyes forward, I can’t tell.
We’ll find our way back to each other. One day soon.
He’s been the most important part of my life since I was a young girl. Even if our love isn’t romantic, it’s real, it’s powerful, and it’s ours. It’ll always be ours, no matter what trafficker or slut comes between us.
I go to the monitor and watch the hellcat tear at the lining on the walls. Bits of blue foam rain behind her with every toss of her hand. She doesn’t look like a woman who can be easily tamed.
She doesn’t look like a woman who’s ever been tamed.