Page 40 of Queen of Madness

I shrug, clearing my throat from the sudden burn. “You could say that. She has some pretty nasty long-term side effects from drug use.”

“Hmm.”

The noise is so small, so meaningless, but at the same time means so much. It’s her understanding my disdain of what she does. Of what she contributes to. That I am the aftermath of what they leave behind.

“And your father?”

I guffaw, ignoring the instant tightness the thought of him causes across my chest. “Nonexistent.”

Onyx doesn’t respond and instead shrugs. “Mine as well.”

We’re silent the remainder of the way, and when we return to the estate, she’s inside before I have the bags in my hand.

Like clockwork, I wake at five, work out and eat breakfast with Russ and Cat. She asks again who I am, and Iagaintell her the same.

I take Onyx’s plate and find her in the office.

Every time I see her, I’m always captivated. From the intensity in her sharp gaze and elegantly defined features to the attire that transforms her delicate curves into a dangerously powerful profile.

Her hair is straight, back in its ponytail at the top of her head. She’s wearing a black silk dress that ties at her hip. The thick gold bracelet on her wrist catches my attention as she twirls a playing card between her fingers. “It seems Maddy has overslept this morning. I’d like for you to join me in her stead.”

“Good morning to you too,” I say, setting her plate next to where she leans against her desk.

She guffaws, her lips curving in amusement. “I didn’t take you as one for pleasantries, Kane. You gave me the impression you were more of ato the pointtype of man.”

I step closer, not hesitating when I press my chest against hers, and capture her chin in a light grasp. Her breath catches, and her pupils dilate, but the smirk painting her face makes me hesitate.

It’s a look of question tilting her brows. No, a challenge. I have her physically in the palm of my hand and she wonders what I’ll do. Like a dog who finally caught up to the mailman.

Gripping her tighter, I lower my face to have our mouths only a breath apart. My eyes flash to the dip above her succulent lips. “You’d be surprised how many detours I’d make before reaching mypoint, Boss.”

When I gaze back up, her irises are alight with something new—something between curiosity and defiance. But before I can read into what I think I’m seeing, she cups my stiffening length through my slacks.

The sudden friction makes me twitch in her hand, causing her to laugh and slip away from my hold and walk toward her shelves. “Let’s see if you still have that same determination when you see who I am.”

Onyx presses against the farthest bookshelf, which I realize is a door, revealing a stairwell behind it. She glances back at me with an arched brow raised while she waits for me to follow through.

The stairs are fairly narrow, and attach to cement walls, not allowing me to see what I’m walking into. Or allowing whoever may be at the bottom a chance to know what’s coming. And there is someone at the bottom.

I smell the metal in the air. The sweat carrying their faint odor and fear. And then there’s something else. Almost like grilled chicken with herbs.

We pass a small panel that lights up as I pass, it kick-starts a soft whirl of machinery somewhere and a cool blast of air begins flowing from the vents above. When I reach the bottom, I realize immediately why I’m here.

The guard I knocked out at the restaurant is sitting in the center of the sterile basement. His head is slumped down, touching his visibly moving chest. His breaths are deep and steady and despite the increasingly cold air swirling around the space, he doesn’t stir or even shiver.

He’s knocked out.

His uniform is still on his body, though I use the term lightly—it’s barely hanging on. The dress shirt’s been ripped in various places, all of which display areas of flesh covered in what looks like dirt. But I know the gummy texture to be dried blood.

His matted blond hair is dark as well, covering half his face, even as Onyx pushes his head back. A groan rumbles out of him the same time I find myself curious. “Why aren’t his pants soiled?”

Her head snaps around, her brows furrowed. “That’s the only question you have?”

What else would I wonder?

I nod, and she huffs a laugh before turning back to her prisoner. The sound is fleeting, but it penetrates my chest with its lightness.

“Oddly enough, it’s the only smell I don’t stomach well. Not that I can’t tolerate it. It just doesn’t get me off like the sweet tinge of blood.” She threads her sharp nail through his scalp, gripping it so hard a very conscious hiss streams from his clenched teeth. “Trigger usually comes down a few times a day to allow him into the back room to relieve himself. Normally, I don’t keep people here long enough, but I needed Manny here to fester for a few days.”

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