Page 8 of Capturing Sin

I counted the scars on his hands, from the thin slice of blades to the ragged stretch of claws. He had them in abundance. Thick ropes of the white tissue crossed his knuckles from where he’d split them open too many times.

It made sense. Bones were much stronger than skin. Not that a little blood ever made him stop hitting his unlucky target.

I should know.

For a moment, the fantasy of escaping him, and all the violence he represented, made it hard to breathe. The longing burrowed so deep that I knew it had always been there.

He jerked his chin towards the basic seat, purposefully uncomfortable, and I obeyed in an instant, bringing myself below his level, throned in the plush office chair.

“You’re healed now?” he asked, running a critical eye over me like he could see my wounds through the lab coat and clothing beneath.

Fear gripped me, but I had to say the words. “Yes, Uncle.”

It was closer to the truth than it should be. I’d broken my ribs, punctured a lung, been cut and bruised all over, practically bled out, and yet because of a demon, just three weeks later, only dull aches and extra scars remained. Even crashing my car the same night had only reopened the deepest wounds.

He nodded.

Rearing over the desk, he struck.

His palm collided with my face, whipping my head aside. Disorientation swam for a moment, and I blinked hard, staring at the weapons wall. Straightening in my chair, I ignored my throbbing cheek, clinging to my neutral expression.

Of course, his solution to me getting injured was to hit me. At least this time was an open-palm slap.

From him, that was practically a hug.

“You know we must maintain an image of strength to run this chapter. Your theatrics compromised that,” he said.

I wasn’t sure I’d call being almost murdered by demons “theatrics,” but I understood what he was getting at. Me going down in battle made him look bad, especially given how minor my injuries seemed when the team had returned for clean-up with reinforcements.

Now that I was healed, he was expressing his frustrations.

He’d been mercifully ignoring me since my failed escape attempt. Retribution was coming, but it seemed he was letting me stew in the horror of anticipation. For now.

I locked down my instinctive reaction to bite back. Revealing my anger would only incite more pain.

“Apologies, Uncle.” I inclined my head.

His eyes narrowed. It was the neutral acceptance he wanted, yet he hunted for any excuse to unleash more violence. He craved it like a junkie.

“Don’t think I’m not aware that you also broke up with Leo.”

More anger piled onto the bonfire raging inside me, hot enough to eclipse the stinging warmth across my cheek.

“You want to discuss my love life?” I asked, fighting to keep the acid out of my tone.

His expression darkened, telling me I wasn’t quite as neutral as I’d hoped. “He’s a strong match for you.”

“He also left me to die,” I murmured, voice lacking inflection. “Loyalty is important, is it not?”

He fell silent, watching me with a cold calculation I’d been taught to fear.

“What will I do with you, Liliana?” he asked, like he genuinely cared what my response might be.

I sealed my lips shut. If he wanted me to speak, a deep furrow would appear between his brows after a brief stretch of silence.

Expression smooth, he continued on, “Martin tells me you’re being difficult.”

One day, my boss would get what was coming to him. It might not be by my hand, but I had to believe karma would hunt him down and tear him into tiny, insignificant pieces.

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