Page 49 of Buried in Blood
I walk to her slowly, deliberately, and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m going to let him watch me win. Watch everything fall apart from the inside out. And when he’s broken enough, I’ll send him back… just in time to lose again.”
Her breath hitches.
“You’re not God, Damien.”
I smirk. “No. God takes credit for mercy. I take credit for results.”
She slaps me.
Hard.
Silence crashes down like thunder.
Reese straightens. My jaw locks—but I don’t retaliate. Not yet.
I lean in, so close she can feel my breath. “I’ll let that slide. Just this once.”
She holds my gaze. “You want a celebration? Then go toast to your own ego. I’ll be busy trying not to drown in the aftermath.”
I chuckle low, savage. “You already drowned, sweetheart. You’re just too proud to admit it.”
I walk away, past Reese, who raises a brow.
“Still want that drink?” he asks.
I take the glass from his hand and down it in one gulp.
Then I raise the empty crystal to the ceiling.
“To the game,” I say. “And to the fools who think they’re playing it.”
Harmony doesn’t say a word.
But the firelight flickers across her face—and I swear, in that moment, she looks more dangerous than either of us.
Good.
She’s learning.
19
Damien
The room is dim, and the concrete walls are sweating in the cold. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting shadows that dance like ghosts around Dante’s hunched frame.
He’s shackled to the chair. Wrists bound. Ankles chained. Mouth bloodied. But his eyes—they still burn.
Good. I like it when they burn.
I crouch in front of him, elbow resting on my knee, a scalpel glinting between my fingers like a lover’s secret.
“Comfortable?” I ask, almost gently.
He glares.
I tap the blade against my chin. “I’ve always wondered what made you tick, Dante. The cool one. The quiet one. The thinker.”
