“Why? What the fuck is going on?” When they don’t answer, I turn on them, narrowed eyes, gaze lethal.
They flinch. “We can’t tell you, sir.”
Probably because they know I’ll take my rage out on them. Father doesn’t care what I do to his men, so long as I cooperate when they’re carrying out his orders. Maybe I’ll have one of them whip the other and then let the whipped one have his revenge.
I keep going. It’s another three flights up, a door, and thenaahhhh… a quick moment to scrunch my toes in the fluffy red carpet. I don’t luxuriate long, moving forward, leaving the carpeted area, bare feet slapping over marble as my eyes adjust to the bright chandeliers. And then it’s more stairs—a full winding staircase of solid mahogany—until I hit carpet again.
I allow myself one toe scrunch.
Outside Griffon’s door, I hear screeching—Rosaline—and intermittentthuds. Who’s throwing shit in there? Without knocking, I thrust the door open, my quick reflexes reacting, barely dodging the clothing missile flying at my head. I catch the pile of jeans, tossing them aside.
Griffon’s surrounded. Two men in black T-shirts and black fatigues, and Rosaline in a slinky black dress and heels, likely on her way out for the evening.
Which she fucking isn’t, not wearing that. Father will have my head, and I’ll have to murder whoever touches my sister.
Griffon catches sight of me, his green eyes flying wide, and he points to the suitcase on his bed. It’s laden with haphazard piles of clothing. There’s something—what’s that on his face? Blood’s crusted under his nose and his right eye’s puffy with swelling. Rage heats my frozen veins. I yank at the sluggish half of my consciousness still in that fucking metal coffin. Hair damp, skin cold. I need as much of myself as I can force to the surface for Griff and Rosaline. I don’t ever want to be weak in front of them. I’m their big brother. It's my job to protect them.
“Who the fuck touched him?”
The question was for the two guards, but Griffon answers, pointing to the one bald one. Sweet, sweet Griffon, until he thinks you deserve an ass beating.
Gripping the guard by the shoulders, I headbutt him in the nose and knee him in the gut. He doubles over, blood gushing. “Get the fuck out of here. Touch him again, and I’ll throw both of you out the window.”
He hobbles out on the heels of his buddy, and Rosaline rounds on me. She’s full of the Savage fierceness, sharp angles to her face like our father, but with Mother’s small, Who-like nose. We’re five years apart. When she was seven, and I was twelve, I’d always tell her she was the prettiest Who in Whoville. I also told her that if anyone laid a finger on her, it would be their last day on earth.
Um, that was when she was a little older, though.
“Where the fuck have you been?” she demands.
Exhaustion from fighting for my life in the tank threatens to swallow me. It shudders through my thawing limbs, clawing around in my brain. I can’t let it. If I think about it for too long, being there, tied in that paralyzing straitjacket, I’ll break down. As slowly as I can, I pull in a breath, just to feel my lungs expand to their fullest. On the outside, I make my face stone, so she never suspects the heaving turmoil beneath.
“Out,” I lie. “I’m a busy man with many admirers. Just got out of the shower.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been trying to calm him down for the past hour, while you were out whoring yourself.”
“What’s going on?” I keep my voice hard as if I’m mildly offended by her words, but I’m not. If that’s what I had been doing, she’d have every right to say what she said.Atta girl, Rosaline. Don’t take shit from anyone. Especially me.
She sighs, crossing her arms. Her breasts push into the neckline, just barely staying inside. Yeah, that dress has to go. “He’s flipping out because Father told him he’s not going to Shadowridge, he’s going to North Point.”
That goddamn liar. I take another calming breath.Delicious fucking air.
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
“Good. It’s my turn to go out.”
“Not in that dress, you’re not. Put some fucking clothes on, Rosaline.”
“You’ve got to stop with that bullshit. You don’t get to tell me what to wear, Ryan.”
“Change or I’ll make sure you don’t go anywhere.”
She lets out a frustrated noise. “You’re such a fucking dick. What will you do when I’m at school? Can’t lord over my clothing choices there.”
“I could if I needed to. Don’t fucking test me.” Especially not right now, I don’t say. My patience hangs by a tender thread.
“I get that you’re upset, Griff, but you’re just gonna let him talk to me like that?” she says.
Griffon hardens his gaze, gesturing toward her breasts that are nearly spilling out of that tiny dress.
