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Malachi’s hand closed around my wrist. “Not yet. We need to talk first.”
“About what?”
“About why the House wants you so badly.” His voice dropped. “And what Dahlia did to keep it from taking you six years ago.”
Chapter 5
Zinnia
“ARTIFICIAL SUICIDE” BY BAD OMENS
Malachi’s grip tightened on my wrist.
He pulled me toward the door before I could answer, before I could process what he’d just said, before the anger, confusion, and unwanted heat still flooding my body could settle into something I could name. The Veiled Butcher remained motionless in the center of the room, his gloved hands folded and his posture patient, as though he’d expected Malachi to interrupt all along.
“Wait—” I started.
“No.” Malachi shoved the door open and dragged me into the service corridor. The walls were bare brick, the floor unfinished concrete, and the air smelled like dust and old wood. “You wanted answers. You’re getting them. But not here.”
“You could’ve told me that before you let him—”
“Before I let him what?” He stopped and turned, forcing me to stumble into him. “Touch you? Blindfold you? Make you wet enough that you forgot to ask questions?” His free hand caught my jaw, tilting my face up toward the mask. “You agreed to that performance, Zinnia. You wanted it. And now you’re pissed off because I didn’t stop it when you asked me to.”
“You violated—”
“I violated nothing.” His thumb pressed against my pulse. “You permitted a second performer. You didn’t specify terms. You didn’t use your safeword. And when I took off that blindfold, you were dripping and shaking and ready to come all over my hand. So cut the innocent shit and stop pretending you didn’t want exactly what happened.”
Heat flooded my face. “Fuck you.”
“Later.” He let go of me and kept walking, pulling me deeper into the corridor. “Right now, we’re going backstage. You’re going to listen. And then you’re going to decide if you want to make a deal with me or spend the rest of the night wandering through rooms that’ll do a lot worse than blindfold you.”
The corridor twisted, narrowed, and opened into a wider space filled with scaffolding, hanging ropes, and exposed brick. A single spotlight cut through the darkness at the room’s center.
Malachi stopped beneath it, let go of my wrist, and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion.
I froze.
Black ink crawled up his throat and disappeared beneath the iron mask, covering his chest and arms in a record I couldn’t tear my eyes away from. It was the first time I’d really looked at them. A flayed angel, wings torn off. A cathedral burning from the inside out. A woman’s face mid-scream, her mouth open wide enough to show teeth. A forest made entirely of human bones. Scars cut through the ink—old wounds that had healed wrong—and his hands were wrapped in black tape.
He tossed the shirt onto a nearby crate and turned back to face me, letting me see it all and react.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“You’re half-naked in the middle of a hallway. What the fuck did you expect?”
Beneath the mask, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most people run when they realize I’ve been following them.”
“Congratulations. I’m not most people.”
“No. That makes you either very brave or very stupid, and I haven’t decided which yet.” Stepping out of the spotlight, he walked toward me, and I forced myself to stay still, even though every instinct was screaming at me to back up. “You’ve been wandering through the public rooms for an hour. You’ve seen the Cartographer, the Penitent, the Inkwell, and Rook. You’ve talked to Khaos. You’ve watched guests pay to touch the things they’re not supposed to want. And now you’re here, standing in front of me, trying to decide if I’m going to hurt you or fuck you or both.”
Something kicked in my chest. Not from fear. From the way he said it, from the certainty in his voice that he already knew what I was thinking. Without my permission, my thighs pressed together, and I hated that he was right. Heat spread through me, and I hated that my body responded to the threat in his words, the ink covering his chest, and the way he moved through the space between us without hesitation.
“I’m deciding if you’re going to tell me where my sister is,” I said.
“She’s below the red door.”
“Then take me there.”
