“Even a white rose has a dark shadow.”
—Unknown
I’ve never stared directly into the eyes of a ghost.
Not until today, anyway.
The wall is cold on my shoulder as I lean against it, arms crossed. My eyes narrowed, I gaze straight into the screen with a camera view of the room she’s in. A few footsteps and a closed door are the only things separating her from me, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She’s certainly a petite little thing. A mouse trying hard to come off as a lion. The camera’s night vision allows me to see everything, and it’s the details that give her away—the slight shake in her voice. The way her knees are clenched tight, as though she expects forceful hands to pry them open at any moment. The slow lick across her plump lips before she speaks, a sign of hesitation. And Raife’s enjoying every second of it.
Fucking Raife.
My fists tighten, but I release the frustration through a long exhale. I knew the bastard was sick, but this is impressive even for him. The girl shouldn’t be here, and Raife’s little charade won’t seem so amusing when one of us loses our shit from having to stare at her every goddamn day.
I admit, seeing her in the dining room for the first time, not ten feet away from me ... it was certainly unexpected. Her soft, porcelain skin identical to the image still burned into my brain, even years after the fact. The same thick, black hair. Those eyes—the exact shade of sky blue.
Yeah, she got under my fucking skin. The searing heat vibrating through me this very moment tells me she still is. Raife succeeded in that much. I wouldn’t be surprised if the crazy son of a bitch gave her contact lenses to perfectly replicate that eye color. For all I know he had her dye her hair, too; such fair skin against the blackest hair isn’t common.
What I intend to find out iswhy. There’s a reason we only hire blondes, with Aubrey being the exception. And Raife is many things, impulsive and manipulative being at the top, but he’s not usually such a fool.
I rip my gaze from the girl to steal a glance at my brothers, who stand at the opposite end of the small viewing room. Felix’s focused stare is sharp, assessing, like my own, except he’s not looking at the girl. He’s watching Raife. Breaking him down into tiny, manageable pieces that can be inspected and evaluated, like the complicated techy shit Felix spends his days knee deep in. Probably trying to figure out what the hell Raife thinks he’s pulling.
Felix is the least of my concerns. He may be a lost cause like the rest of us, but there’s not an aggressive bone in his body—outside of our agenda, that is. If he snaps, the worst he’d do is cave in on himself, and I’d be right there to bring him out of it.
Griff, on the other hand—with his nose almost pressed against the duplicate screen, his unblinking gaze centered on the girl, and his grip squeezing the edge of the frame so tight his knuckles are white—all he knows is aggression.
Ever since that day fifteen years ago, when the four of us were forced to sacrifice our souls to change our fates, Griff has had tunnel vision when he sets his sights on something. It’s one of his strengths, being able to black out everything but his target, and it serves our agenda well. This thing with the girl, though ... I push off the wall and take a slow step closer to the monitor, trying to ignore the way her body trembles when the wax hits her thigh for the first time. Gritting my jaw is the only reaction I allow myself.
Griff, he takes her presence here personally. But no one knows just how personal this is to me. No one knows the full extent of my past, my secrets, wheresheis concerned. Dressing up some look-alike to screw with my head isn’t only going to cost Raife; it’ll cost the girl just as much.
Emmy Highland. A picture-perfect match to whatshewould look like today, if she had survived that night.Ah, fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut at the mere thought ofher. She’s attached to memories I’ve successfully kept locked up tight for the sake of my own survival.
Emmy Highland is nother. What she is, is a pawn in Raife’s twisted game. But if my past has taught me anything, it’s that even innocence is not always as it seems. And her little tells confirm as much; especially now, with the wax sliding down her bare leg.
Whether she’s seductively stroking my brother’s palm at the dinner table or helplessly tied to a steel chair, there is something undeniably fragile about the girl with raven hair. Something that threatens to crack with a single touch. In fact, I get the feeling I wouldn’t need to touch her at all to make her bleed.
My eyes fall shut, the thought of blood against her little body taking over until it’s all I see. So familiar, yet not at all.
Crimson rivulets slowly dancing down her fair skin ... A deep shiver running through her spine at the thick, warm sensation ... I wonder how those plump, pink lips would look with her tongue flicking out to catch the drops of red. The blue of her eyes would reflect so clearly in the silver edges of my knife, her pale palm such a stark contrast against the blade’s black handle, and I have to know ... if I slipped the weapon into her delicate hand, would she startle and drop it? Or would she wrap her grip around it and squeeze?
Fuck. Heat cuts down my chest and straight to my cock, burning through my skin until I’m swallowing down a groan.
Goddamn Raife and his mindfuckery. He knew exactly how this girl’s presence would screw with me.
I need to get the hell out of this room. I need to get the hell away from her.
Just as I take a step toward the exit, a soft whimper from the other side of the glass has my head tilting. Raife’s got the girl’s head pulled back by her hair, blue eyes wide at the ceiling, hands still tied behind her back. He’s looming over her, a smirk on his face as he holds the candle over her shoulder, just close enough to make her quiver. Likely trying to work out if his next touch will leave far more than a sting.
He’s toying with her, seeing what she unwittingly reveals in moments of fear, intimidation, pleasure. Or pain. He tends to get more of a rush from screams than whimpers, but then, so do the types of women that sign up for his ridiculous charades.
Raife’s methods today are nothing new, if slightly more ... strategic than usual. But what is new is her reaction. I hardly notice I’m taking another step forward until I’m almost as close to the screen as Griff. I dip one hand in my pocket, the other stroking the side of my jaw.
Emmy has angled her head back enough to see him, her slender neck fully exposed. One corner of her lips curves, but just slightly. Seductively. When she whispers something too low for me to hear, Raife lowers his head enough his dirty-blond hair brushes her forehead. His grip loosens, and soon his fingers are teasing the material around her hands.
He tugs at the coarse material. Her body stills, her eager anticipation visible from all the way over here. I almost think he’s going to untie it completely, but then he slowly backs away with that obnoxious smirk etched across his face.
When the girl grits her teeth and something vicious flashes in her angelic eyes, my gaze narrows, and that fucking heat runs straight to my groin again.
