These Monstrous Ties: New Adult Dark Romance (Unsainted Book 1) Page 10

  He picks his head up at that, gazing down at me as if he’s searching for the truth in my drunkenness. I see his throat bob as he swallows. I see that delicious vein in his neck that I want to run my tongue over. He lets go of my wrist, yanks off his hoodie, pulls down his pants. He’s naked save for his boxer briefs, and his body is beautiful. Sculpted, smooth muscles, and I see his cock straining against black fabric. I see the skull tattooed on his thigh.

  “After tonight,” he says, voice hoarse, leaning back into me, “what about then?”

  I blink. After tonight. I wasn’t supposed to survive the night. This is supposed to be the end. Depression had visited me like a ghost in the night as far back as I could remember. I’m done drowning in the darkness. I want to finally die in it.

  He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What about then?” he repeats, his voice cold.

  I open my mouth, and he strokes his thumb over my swollen lip. I still taste his blood, and mine. He leans down, until we’re nose to nose.

  “Say you’ll stay.”

  I take a shaky breath. It isn’t a command, those words. It’s more like a plea.

  “Please say you’ll stay,” he urges me again, his voice more desperate. “You don’t want to die.” He makes those last words both a question and a threat.

  I hear someone moaning again in the distance of this fucked up place. I swear I hear someone whispering, too. I’m getting dizzy, and Lucifer being on top of me, so close to me, begging me to live, it doesn’t help me think.

  I’ve been here before. Not emotionally, not like this with Lucifer. But I’ve blacked out more times than I’d like to count. And I’ve had far too much to drink tonight. I’m fading, and some small part of me is pissed off. I’ll have to wake up in the morning, and this all might turn into a dream. Lucifer might be gone. I might be alone. And I’ll have to find the gun in the morning light and work up the courage to pull the trigger all over again.

  He presses a kiss to my lips, softer than all the others.

  “Say you’ll stay, and I’ll always be here. We’ll always be like this. You take my sins, I’ll take yours.”

  I struggle to keep my eyes open. I’m not going to last much longer here with him.

  “I’m afraid when I wake up, you’ll be gone.”

  I should be ashamed of those words, but I’m not.

  I don’t want this strange, twisted boy to leave.

  He kisses me again. “I’ll never leave you,” he swears. “And if you leave me…the Unsaints will know how to find you.”

  I close my eyes, a smile on my lips. “You don’t know me.”

  He kisses my lips, my cheeks, my nose. My brow.

  “I don’t leave what’s mine. We can take forever getting to know each other.”

  I sigh. “The baby…” I don’t know why I say it, but it’s one of many things I don’t understand.

  He runs his finger down my jaw, coming to rest on my throat. I keep my eyes closed, afraid what he might say next will hurt.

  “We’ll figure that out. With you by my side, we’ll figure that out, Lilith.”

  I smile.

  And then the world goes black.

  I dream of strange things.

  Hands around my throat. A whisper in my ear. Someone screaming, far, far away. The sound of groans, of angry male voices. The feeling of love and lust wrapped into one. Into me. The shattering of a heart. A piercing, guttural cry for someone to “Stop!”. But no one stops.

  The lights go on.

  Someone weeps.

  I’m taken away, and the Unsaints are left scattered around the asylum.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Present

  Jeremiah set us up.

  Or rather, he specifically told Nicolas he wouldn’t be back until morning to see exactly what we might do in his absence.

  And he’s fucking waiting when Nicolas walks past the guards at the door, me over his shoulder in the black body bag.

  I know Jeremiah is there before I see him. Before he says a word. Because Nicolas stills, his hands gripping me tighter around the waist.

  Fuck’s sake.

  Gently, he sets me down, and I know he makes to unzip the bag when Jeremiah stops him.

  “Don’t,” he says quietly. Calmly.

  I hear Nicolas back away. I close my eyes tight, wishing my brother a slow death. He is going to drag this out. He is going to keep me in here, make me learn my lesson. But I promise myself that if he throws me to Kristof again, I will run away and never come back.

  Ever.

  I’ll still kill Lucifer for him, because it’s for me, too. But I’m not going to do anymore of his bidding if he puts me in a position to be raped again.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks quietly. From the sound of his voice, and the nearness, I know he’s kneeling down beside me.

  I roll my eyes, unseen by anyone but maybe the devil himself.

  “Fuck off.”

  Sure, maybe I should keep my mouth shut. It’s one in the morning. No matter the hours of the Rain mansion, no one is really themselves in the night. We wear masks when the sun goes down. Our dirtiest deeds come out to play. Our ugly souls. In the night, we are our wildest form.

  My brother is no exception.

  He yanks back the zipper on the bag and hauls me out by my throat, crushing my windpipe in the process. Even though I know I shouldn’t, even though I know it’s not how to get out of a hold like this, my hands fly to his fingers, trying to peel him off of me. I’m panicking.

  Nicolas has my gun, my knife is in my back pocket, and when Jeremiah slams me against the wall beside the sliding glass doors of the entrance, I see spots.

  “What did you say to me?” he asks me, my feet dangling off the floor.

  My throat is going to look like a fucking plum when these boys are done with me.

  I don’t bother trying to speak. I know I won’t get a word out.

  “Jeremiah, it was my fault. I took her.” Nicolas’s voice. And then I see him, behind my brother, reaching out a hand. Like he might actually lay one on Jeremiah. His eyes are wide, and I realize he’s scared. Guards are scattered about the room, Kristof being one of them. He’s watching me with a wry smile. I don’t even get the satisfaction of seeing his bandaged leg. He wears pants that cover it.

  Motherfucker.

  Jeremiah’s jade eyes are narrowed. He’s wearing a suit, a crisp white shirt under his blazer. In that moment, there’s nothing I want more than to get his own blood all over it. Fuck him.

  He lets me go, throwing me against the wall one more time before he does. He turns his back to me, starts to pace, his hands clench into fists.

  “What should I do with you?” he asks loudly. No one answers. Nicolas looks relieved he let go of me; his shoulders sag, and his eyes flick to mine, his brows going up, almost like he’s apologizing.

  But this is my mess.

  I put my hand to my throat, rubbing at my sore muscles and tendons there.

  “Kill me,” I answer for him. “It’s what I was trying to do when you dragged me from the asylum last year. Before you and your fucking Unsaints fucked that up. Fucking go ahead and help me out. End it now. I’m nothing but a pain in your ass. I will always be nothing but a pain in your ass.”

  He stops pacing, but he doesn’t look at me.

  Now Nicolas looks furious. With me. Kristof is leering at me. I’m glad Trey isn’t here. He had told me where Lucifer was. I don’t want him to get the brunt of my brother’s bullshit, too. I wonder where Brooklin is. If she’s getting a full-body massage in her suite on my brother’s floor. I have no idea how she deals with his bullshit. If he’s like this with me, I know he has to be worse with her. He’s ordered her around in front of everyone, commanded her here and there. Once, I’d seen him raise his hand as if he were going to hit her, but he hadn’t.

  That was the only time I’d seen them argue.

  But that’s because Brooklin keeps her mouth shut. Brooklin
is meek. She cows to my brother.

  I don’t. I won’t.

  Damn him.

  “That’s what you want?” he finally asks me. His voice is lowered. But I know that doesn’t mean he’s calm. It means he’s angrier.

  “Yep,” I say in mock cheerfulness. “Put a goddamn bullet through your sister’s brain and bury me with the rest of your thugs.” I shrug. “Or burn me. I don’t give a shit.” I sag against the wall, letting my head tilt back, stuffing my hands in my hoodie pockets. I talk a good game. I really don’t care if he does kill me. But I’m fucking tired.

  Today has been a day. And considering my life, that’s saying something.

  Besides, Lucifer won’t get out of my head. He’s right here. He might have always been right here. He’s with Julie. They have a child. I’m going to kill him.

  Jeremiah turns around to face me, finally. He has a smile on his face.

  “Okay,” he says quietly. Then he reaches inside his blazer and pulls out a gun. He cocks it, aims at my head. “If that’s what you want, Sis.”

  Nicolas freezes. He had been rubbing his hand over his jaw, but now he’s frozen, staring at my brother with an open mouth.

  Hell, even Kristof looks uncomfortable, which is saying something. I feel quite sure he would have no qualms about fucking my dead body. But suddenly he isn’t leering at me anymore. He looks like he’s holding his breath, his gaze darting from me to my brother and back to me.

  Jeremiah hasn’t faltered.

  I haven’t moved. I don’t want to. Let him do it.

  I try to dare him with my eyes. I won’t look away. If he’s going to pull that trigger, if he’s going to kill his sister, he’s going to watch my expression. He’s going to stare into my eyes. I will not look away. I’ll let him see the complete and total lack of betrayal in my gaze. I always expected it would come to this. Unsaints are unhinged, and he might not be one of them now, but he was bred one. Besides, this hotel has seen enough death, these people have caused enough of it.

  What’s a little more to add to the body count?

  I count to three in my mind, but Jeremiah still hasn’t pulled the trigger.

  “Don’t pussy out now,” I hiss at him.

  He laughs.

  And then he fires.

  The shot rings out in the foyer, my ears ringing, and I jump, startled, but otherwise, I force myself not to move. I’m still staring at him. We share blood. He just shot at me.

  But he’d aimed high.

  Nicolas is staring above my head. Kristof has gone pale.

  I step away from the wall and look up at the cream-colored paint. A bullet hole is lodged in the wall, a foot above my head.

  He left a lot of room.

  I twist my head back to look at him. He lowers the gun, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look pleased. Or arrogant. He doesn’t even look angry anymore.

  He looks disappointed. And I feel pretty damn sure he’s disappointed with himself for not being able to do it. I close the space between us, my boots echoing on the marble floor. When we are nearly nose-to-nose, or as close as we will ever be considering our height difference, I stop.

  I lean in close to him, whisper the words against his neck. “Next time, don’t miss.” And then I walk away, enjoying the silence that follows me.

  I should go to bed.

  But I can’t. I’m exhausted, but my mind is running a million miles a minute. I’m proud of myself for barely flinching. Proud I didn’t try to stop him. That I hadn’t moved. I’m still genuinely shocked he had purposefully missed me.

  But that isn’t what I’m thinking about when I sit on my balcony, the sliding door open at my back. I have my legs stretched out, draped over a black iron chair across from me, identical to the one I’m sitting on.

  I had downed a rum and Diet from the minifridge in my room, and I should have had more than one, but I don’t have the energy to pour another. Instead, I’d set the glass on the nightstand and walked out here in my pajamas; an oversized shirt and black cotton shorts.

  The night is cooler than it was when I was in Raven Park. I gaze out at the lights down below in the city, Alexandria powering through in the middle of the night. The university is there. Someone my age is having their first legal drink down there. Someone is getting fucked for the first time. Someone is having their heart ripped in two, probably not for the last time. Someone is dying.

  I feel nothing.

  I’m numb as I watch the city.

  I lean back in my chair, wrap my arms around myself, and close my eyes. I didn’t bother to bring a knife out here. If someone comes for me, well, for all I care, they can fucking have me.

  But when I close my eyes, it’s no one in the hotel I see. No one here I think about, even though I’m certain most everyone under this enormous roof wants me dead.

  No.

  It’s his midnight blue eyes that flash in my mind. Pale, smooth skin. A dimple in one cheek. A sharp jawline.

  My eyes fly open, and instinctively, they fall on the silver scar on my thigh. Three inches wide, pearly white. I run a finger over it, but the edges are smooth. I wish they weren’t. I want to feel the jaggedness of that knife.

  I want to feel some physical representation of what Lucifer did to my heart. And now he’s playing with me. He’s waiting for me. Does he know Jeremiah wants me to kill him? Did he burn down Brooklin’s house as a message from all of the Unsaints, to tell my brother they’re coming for him? Or for me?

  And why?

  The betrayal?

  My brother refuses to talk to me about the Unsaints. About Lover’s Death. About the Death Oath. About what exactly he saw that night.

  Burning down Brooklin’s house had been a message.

  A warning.

  She never stayed there anymore. No girl ever stayed apart from Jeremiah once he decided to make them his. They never lasted this long either, and aside from a few brawls and knife torture, I’d never known Jeremiah to seek retribution against someone who had offended his girl. He replaced them too quickly to develop that kind of feeling. He was protective in that he didn’t want to share what was his, but aside from me, I’d never known him to be up in arms possessive. He tossed them aside, in the trash.

  Literally. At least, I wouldn’t have been surprised. I certainly never saw any of his exes, and I couldn’t imagine he’d let them live after what they knew.

  Jeremiah and the Order of Rain is always under investigation from the police. The Rain mansion as a whole is always under investigation. But the thing about police is that they like money, too. And if you pay enough, they’ll look the other way. And if you take care of their families, they’ll pretend to be deaf to the rumors.

  And Jeremiah paid better than anyone in Alexandria. In the whole goddamn state, probably.

  Except for, maybe, the Unsaints themselves.

  They’re above it all.

  If he’d killed me downstairs in that foyer, no one would have known except the people in there. And no one would have cared.

  Even Nicolas would have moved on. He’d seen death on repeat since he’d started working with my brother. Probably before then, too.

  Kristof would’ve toasted Jeremiah later on in their “club”; the biggest bar in the hotel that was for “boys only”.

  Fuck them all.

  I glance down at the pavement below, the marble fountain of a gargoyle. I wonder if I’ll die if I jump. I’m only on the seventh floor, but there are about twenty more above me. I could climb to the top.

  I glance up at the stars. It’s strange to know that Lucifer might be looking up at the same ones. Might be thinking of my death, too. He might be wondering what it would feel like to snap my neck in his hands.

  Or he might be remembering what my blood tastes like.

  Like I’m remembering his.

  I wonder if he has more kids with Julie. I didn’t think to ask Nicolas that. I’m not sure I want to know. But it’ll make it hurt a little more. It�
��ll twist the knife in a little deeper, and maybe that’s exactly what I need. Because even though I will kill him, and gladly, I can’t stop fucking thinking about him.

  The taste of him.

  His hands on me.

  His voice in my ear.

  His scent.

  His blood.

  His lies.

  I press my palm against my forehead.

  I want him out.

  You can run Lilith, but you can’t hide. Not from me.

  Same to you, Lucifer.

  Same to you.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Present

  I wake up the next morning on the floor of my balcony.

  At first, I don’t know where I am. I scramble to my feet, and there’s a sharp ass pang in my foot. I wince, looking down. Shattered glass. I had had more drinks last night, and now, judging by the trail of blood pooling down my foot, I’d just stepped in it.

  My face hurts. I touch my jaw, flexing it. I’d slept out here, on the hard concrete of the balcony floor.

  The sun is rising, the city just waking up. Or going to bed.

  Glass is everywhere. In moments like these, I’m glad my asshole of a brother has an entire staff of housekeepers. Part of me wants to dig my hands into the glass, to see more of my blood paint this balcony. To remind me of Lucifer.

  But part of me wants to never think of him again. It’s why I’d drank so much last night, all by myself. That, and the fact that my own brother almost killed me.

  I limp into the bedroom, leaving the balcony door open, letting the cool October air rush in. I am, technically, off until Halloween night, when Jeremiah wants me to get rid of Lucifer. But I’m not going to be that kind.

  Today, I’ll find Julie and the kid.

  Today, I’ll remind Lucifer of all those promises he’d made a year ago.

  But first, I need to get the glass out of my foot and get dressed. Because Jeremiah is going to have to let me do this my way.

  I walk into the bathroom, black marble and bigger than most people’s living rooms. I sit on the edge of the tub after grabbing some tweezers, and I get to work, digging in my skin to find the edge of the sliver I can see glistening in the lights from the bathroom.