Page 154 of Dance of Madness

What if she didn’t know what she was being used for? What if she wasn’t being usedat all?

…What if it wasn't a setup, and the violence that rained down upon my life that night was just a horrible coincidence?

My eyes linger on her.

No. She let it slip earlier that she knew. Maybe not when she first came to me that night. Maybe not when I chased her, and pinned her, and fucked her.

But at some point, she found out that it washerfucking family who’d sent the guns that went after mine. She knew it back then, and when whatever this thing is between us started.

And she kept it from me. That screams “guilt” to me.

It also screams heartache and darkness. A soul-crushing pain that stabs like a knife and sears like fire.

Because for all the rage and the hate I carry in my heart for her now, there’s something else that was there before, whenever I looked at her. Held her. Even just thought of her.

Love.

The same love that Istillgoddamn feel as I look at her right this second, even after everything, and with all that I know now.

I wish I could carve that feeling out of me. But it’s in too deep, woven too far into the fibers of my being to ever be extricated.

I was in love with Milena even before I knew her name. I loved her in our letters. Loved her when I held her for the first time and tasted her moans on my lips.

Loved her when I lost her and then fell in love with her all over again when I found her. Like my fucking cells knew, even if my brain didn’t. Like there’s a chemical reaction that’ll always bring us back together.

Iachewith love for her. I might fucking hate her for any role she played. I might hate her for keeping that awful secret from me.

But mostly, I hate her right now because I can’t actuallybring myselfto hate her.

Was it real? Did I actually loveher? Or did I fall in love with a ghost she created?

Either way.

Here we are.

I bend down and pick up the metal bucket of water. I take in her sleeping form.

Rise and shine, princess.

Milena screams and sits up with a choked cry when I dump the water onto her.

She scrambles to shield herself. Her eyes are wide, hair plastered to her face, dress translucent and clinging to her body like a second skin.

She splutters and gasps, skittering back on the cot before she looks up at me.

“What thefuckis wrong with you?!” she spits, glaring up at me.

The expression on her face shreds something inside me. It’s not fear. Not fury.

It’s heartbreak.

Then I toss the bucket away. It hits the ground and smashes into the bars with a loud, violentCLANG, making her eyes snap to the side.

“Little jumpy, are we?”

She tries to put that defiant front back up. But it’s just a show, and we both know it. I see her throat working as she swallows. Notice the way her eyes dart over my face, like she’s looking for a chink in my armor. A way out.

She won’t find either.

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