Page 112 of Carnival
“Four years, hellion,’’ he whispers. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words for four years.’’
I cup his cheeks, planting my lips on his. For the first time, the kiss is tender and gentle, and I don’t hesitate to pour all of my feelings into the kiss. His soft lips move against mine in perfect sync, as if they were made to be kissed by me.
His hand reaches to the back of my head, removes the claw clip, and then discards it to the floor, making a small noise as it hits the marble floors. His hand tangles with my hair, and he tilts my head upward, deepening the kiss.
James doesn’t know how to express his feelings. He barely has any. But those that he has, he feels with his whole being. I don’t doubt that he loves me, too. The way his hand grips my hair, ever so slightly, just enough to make sure that I’m real and that I’m not leaving, is enough for me.
He pulls back, lips swollen. His breath fans over my mouth, and I can’t look away from him.
I can see my entire life in his eyes, and it’s beautiful. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and more.
“I love you, hellion,’’ he says, and my heart skips a beat. “You’re my entire life. There’s no life for me if you’re not in it. I can’t imagine a single day without you,’’ he puts his forehead to rest against mine. “My perfect little love.’’
???
The basement is dark, with a couple of wall lamps scattered around, providing a little light. The basement is separated into two — one is used as a gym and a practice room for Noelle. Aspace big enough where she can throw her knives with ease. The other part is the torture chamber, as I like to call it.
Hudson is standing right next to me, eyes glued to the door in front of us. The stench of old blood hits my nose, and I try my best not to focus on it. With a shaky exhale, I turn to Hudson.
“She’s inside?”
He nods. “She’s been asking for you.’’
Gently, he takes me by my forearm, leading me to the left. We approach a glass window, and I instantly know it’s one-way. She can’t see me, but I sure as fuck can see her.
“What did she want?”
“Mainly to see you,’’ he responds, but I can barely focus on the words coming from his mouth.
Vivian’s state shocks me. The usually composed, nicely dressed woman, with clothes that are worth more than a lot of people’s monthly wage and with makeup so excessive that it’s been getting ridiculous to watch, is now in a state of disarray.
A few strands of her hair are matted, looking as if they were glued together. Her face, though, is what manages to render me speechless. Her nose is broken, with a lot of bruises decorating her face. Most of them are old, and I can’t help but wonder who got the satisfaction of knocking her down.
Her clothes are dirty, one of her heels is broken, and there are a few places on her pants that are ripped open, her knees bloody. Noelle definitely got a couple of solid hits in, and a satisfied smile tugs on my lips.
Vivian’s eyes, though, tell a different tale.
It’s the look of a trapped mouse, desperately seeking a way out. It’s rather funny, really. The longer I’m standing here, justwatching her in silence, the more hope starts to dim from her expression. She’s finally witnessing first hand everything that she did to me, what she did to James, and God knows how many other people.
“I know you’re there,’’ Vivian grits out, struggling against the metal chains around her body. She’s tied to a chair, tightly, with enough room for her to breathe. Struggling is useless, and she’ll come to realize it soon. “Come and face me, Rosalie.’’
“You don’t have to,’’ Hudson reassures me. “She can’t see you, or hear us.’’
“And I won’t,’’ I respond, taking a small step back.
“Then, what do you want me to do with her?”
My eyes shift to look at him. “You’re asking me?”
Hudson smiles. “It’s your decision. I’d like nothing more than to make an example out of her, but ultimately, the decision is yours.’’
I pause to think, returning my attention to my grandmother.
Hudson could definitely come up with a creative way for her to die. One that would put her in an incredible amount of pain until she’s screaming and begging for mercy. Mercy that he would never grant her.
But that wouldn’t make me much better than her. It’d mean that I’d enjoy watching her be tortured, and that’s not who I am or who I want to be.
“I want her in prison for the rest of her life,’’ I say. “No trial — just like James had no trial. I want the best, yet the worst prison. Somewhere she won’t have an easy time but will be protected enough so she cannot escape, ever.’’
