“Move.” A shove from behind. “Let’s go.”
Something has to be done, and this is the only thing I can think of–a Hail Mary of my making. There’s no time for me to second-guess myself. I whirl and slam my fist into the guy’s nose. I hear the satisfying crunch of cartilage. He hits the floor hard, blood gushing from his nose. I drop with him, grinding the back of his head into the dirty floor.
“Stop Cyan... the rest of you–don’t shoot. Father will have your balls.” Lucilla’s voice cuts through the space as the men hesitate, guns drawn. “Cyan, back off.” I don’t let go, pressing my palms down on his bloody face. “Now Cyan, or Aria gets another nail.” I raise my bloody hands slowly and stand tall.
“He broke my nose,” the bastard whines, as he struggles to rise. “Tie him up,” he says. As he straightens, he struggles to regain his balance.
“No,” Lucilla snaps. “He needs his hands to climb. We’ll restrain him once he’s at the bottom of the ladder. Let’s move. We don’t want to risk our tactic failing–and them coming here and finding clues.”
Lucilla descends first, followed by the man I bloodied. Then me.
At the top of the ladder, I pause. I press both palms down–one on the floor, one on the upper rung–and let the blood smear across the concrete and metal.
It’s all I can do: a single signal, a crimson marker. A whisper to my brothers.Follow the blood.
Sixty-Two
“You don’t crucify a queen and expect her not to rise swinging.”–Aria Boschett.
My bracelet is gone. Cyan won’t find me. Since Lucilla’s gift, I’ve been left alone in the dark. The stygian void presses in, thick and suffocating, while my hand throbs with every heartbeat. As long as I don’t move it, the pain is... tolerable. But I can’t stay like this. I have to pull my hand free. I tell myself that over and over. Breathe through the fear. Count to three.
One…Two…
I stop. The thought of tearing my hand off that table locks me in place. It becomes its own prison. I stare at the nail. The blood has dried around it, blackened and cracked.
Come on. Just do it, Aria. Footsteps cut through the silence.Shit.The keypad beeps. Each chirp is a countdown. To more pain, more torture, and humiliation. My heart hammers as the lock disengages. The door swings open. Lucilla enters first, followed by the two men who held me down while she nailed my hand in place. Others trail behind them, shapes swallowed by dim light.
Then I see him. “Cyan.” My heart leaps and breaks in the same breath. His hands are bound in front of him. But he’s here. He came willingly.Because of me.His eyes find mine. The second he sees my hand, his body coils, then detonates. Cyan slams his elbow into the ribs of the man behind him. With a wet grunt, the man stumbles back.
Cyan twists, rips the gun from his grip, and fires once. Center mass. The body hits the floor in a heap. Before Cyan can make another move, a shot rings out and hits his calf. He staggers but stays upright, spinning to face them, gun up, his eyes blazing. His glasz stare promises death.
Lucilla moves fast. She presses her gun to the side of my head. “Drop it, Cyan, or she dies.” Cyan doesn’t move. His gun stays trained on her. “We both know I’ll do it.” The moment stretches tight until Cyan lowers the weapon and lets it clatter to the floor. “Good,” she purrs. “Now, sit.”
He limps to the chair without a word. “Charles. Damien. Tie him up.” They rush him, binding his wrists and ankles. Lucilla watches until she’s satisfied. Then she strolls over to the man Cyan shot, sprawled on the floor.
“Help me,” he gasps, blood bubbling at his lips.
Lucilla answers with two shots to the head. The way she executes the act, with no hesitation and no flicker of emotion. I don’t react. Somewhere along the way, the violence stopped registering as shock and started feeling... normal.Lucilla turns and leaves. The men drag the body out, smearing a slick crimson trail across the floor. The door slams shut. Only then do I look at Cyan. He’s already staring at me, eyes like fire. My throat burns.
“Are you okay?” I whisper. “When that gun went off, I thought I’d lost you.”
Cyan doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay locked on mine, unreadable but turbulent. A storm barely in check. I wonder what thoughts race through his mind. Not knowing what else to say, I blurt, “Guess you know Lucilla’s Lorenzo’s daughter and a spy.”
“You’re my heart, Aria.” His reply has nothing to do with Lucilla. “I’ll love you... always.” My heart skips a beat; it sounds like he’s saying goodbye.
“I love you, too, Cyan. It hurts, you know. Seeing you like this. Knowing you walked into this hell for me.”
“Anytime, anywhere, Dove... I’m sorry.” His eyes flick to my hand, to the nail. I see his rage blooming beneath the surface. “If I had the strength to stay away from you, you wouldn’t be here.” His voice deepens into pure brutality. “I’ll make them suffer for every moment of pain they’ve inflicted on you.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the raw power of Cyan’s words. “I know, Cyan, I want to do the same to Lucilla.” I glance at his leg. “How bad is it?”
He ignores my question about his leg. “When we get out of this... I promise you everything. Not just this life. You’re worth more than being attached to me, being a mobster’s woman.” I stare at him, bound, bloodied, aching, and see an expression I’ve never seen in him before: remorse and doubt. I think of my parents and the way they were together. Though they were taken from me too soon, my parents had love. They found true companionship in each other, completing each other, and that’s what Cyan does for me. Would I give up meeting him to avoid this? No. Because even now, in this nightmare, I’d choose him again. But I don’t say that. Not yet. Right now, I need The Púca. My tactician, my mobster. Not the man apologizing for loving me.
“Bullshit, Cyan,” I snap. “We don’t have time for this. You told me once that when your parents died, you learned you’re either a predator or prey. So be the fucking predator. Be the man that the underworld calls The Púca.”
That brings him back to the situation at hand. His eyes lift to mine.Wolf eyes.Cyan scans the room, every shadow, and corner. I can see him calculating. Analyzing. The gears in his head are turning at full speed. Then he glances at my hand. The rage flares... then cools. I see it.
I’m guessing Cyan had come to the same conclusion as I had earlier. If I can muster the courage to defy my natural aversion and yank my palm upward, I could loosen my bonds. But instead of giving the idea voice, he says, “My brothers will find us.”
