Page 53 of Buried in Blood
I turn toward him slowly, the storm inside me returning full force.
“She’s blood,” I correct. “Your blood. Which makes her important to me.”
Brooke looks at Dante now—really looks—and for the first time, she doesn’t flinch.
“She’s not like Destiny,” I murmur. “She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t run. She listens.”
“Ilikeyou,” Brooke says to me, her voice so soft it almost breaks. “You make me feel safe. Like I matter.”
“You do matter,” I whisper, brushing her hair back with a bloodstained hand. “And I’m going to make sure no one ever takes you from me, unless it’s on my terms.”
I turn back to Dante, giving him a smile carved from the depths of Hell.
“You hear that, brother?” I sneer. “She’s finally home.”
And for the first time, Dante looks scared.
Not for himself. But for her. And he should be. Because I didn’t just claim his sister today.
I am claiming something more.
Power.
* * *
The silence in the room is almost tender.
Almost.
Dante’s head hangs low, blood dripping slowly from his lip like some kind of offering. Brooke stands a few feet away from him, wringing the edge of her sleeve, the photograph still clutched in her hand like it’s the only anchor she has.
I pace in a slow circle around them, savoring the tension. The confusion. The discomfort.
“This moment is special,” I murmur. “Family reunion and all.”
Dante lifts his head just enough to glare at me through the swelling. “You’re fucking sick.”
“Don’t be rude,” I chide. “Your sister’s right there.”
He spits blood onto the concrete between us. “She’s not my sister. My sister would never like a man like you.”
Brooke flinches.
I walk behind her, rest my hands lightly on her shoulders. She stiffens—but doesn’t pull away.
“She’s more yours than anything else in this world,” I whisper near her ear, loud enough for Dante to hear. “Flesh of your flesh. Bone of your bone. Maybe if you’d known sooner, you could’ve protected her.”
He growls low in his throat. “Leave her out of this.”
I grin. “Oh, but sheisthis.”
I lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head—gentle, possessive.
Then I straighten and clap my hands once, loud and sharp.
“You know what?” I say brightly, voice echoing off stone walls. “I’m feeling generous.”
Dante narrows his eyes.
