Page 61 of Firethorne
Damien smirked.
“What makes you think it was Lysander’s sketch?”
I didn’t respond. And he went on.
“I drew that. Didn’t you notice the difference in style?” I’d noticed that it was better. I’d just thought he’d improved. “Lysander isn’t the only artist in the family. But that wasn’t the point. I knew you were beginning to trust him, so I wanted you to know you weren’t alone. That there was someone good looking out for you. That we weren’t all liars there.” He paused. “And look at how that turned out. He proved once again what a spineless little shit he is.”
“He held me, that night. He tried to stop me running off.”
“I know,” Damien replied. “He’s bragged about how he tried to stop you every time my father mentions anything about that night. He’s proud that he tried to help our father, which shows how utterly clueless he really is. But I’d thought, maybe, he might have a shred of humanity in him. I knew he was a fucker. I knew what he wanted to do to you at that party. That’s why I fucked about with the outfits and then showed you who he really was. I couldn’t help myself. But I never thought he’d give you up like he did. I thought he might’ve done something to help you. But, once again, he proved that he is nothing but a puppet for our father.”
“You drew that sketch,” I said, my mouth dry and my eyes watery with tears I didn’t want to shed in front of him. Everything was hopeless. My life had become a desolate wasteland of nothingness. Like some kind of apocalyptic movie, a dystopian nightmare that I didn’t know how to fix.
And yet, Damien grinned back at me as if this was all going to plan. His plan.
“It was a pretty good sketch, wasn’t it?” he replied with a wicked glint in his eye.
“And you knocked the drink over at the party to save me.”
“That was to save you from Lysander and Miriam. That night... it wasn’t my finest hour.”
I felt a ripple of shame wash over me.
“I meant,” he went on, probably reading between the lines and seeing the flicker of shame, like a whisper on my face that I pushed away. “I shouldn’t have let my moment of weakness be seen by my father. Once that happened, everything escalated.”
“Why would you go to all that trouble?” I asked. “Why do all that... for me?”
“Because I won’t stop until he does. I won’t rest until I know women are safe from men like him. Mind you, Miriam has the Firethorne evil streak running through her, too. What did you do with that necklace she gave you? It had a tracker in, you know. I overheard her talking to my father about it.”
“It’s still in the bedside drawer back at the cabin,” I replied in a daze.
My chest was heaving as I breathed deeply, my heart still pounding as I tried to make sense of it all.
We remained silent for a moment, not knowing what to say. There were no words.
And then Damien sat up, and with a wicked grin on his face, he said, “And now that I’ve told you all of that, there’s only one more thing left for me to say.”
“What?”
He steepled his fingers together, that grin growing wider.
“If you ever repeat anything you’ve heard here today, or let anyone know that in this worthless body, beneath these blackened, charred ribs, lies a heart that isn’t totally pitch black... I’ll have no choice but to cut out your tongue and boil the flesh from your bones, just for good measure.”
I glared back at him, speechless. And after a beat, he threw his head back and laughed.
“I’m just kidding,” he said, and then he stopped laughing and glared back at me like a psycho. “Or am I?”
This man was the definition of a mindfuck.
“I guess we’ll never know,” he went on. “Unless you talk. But you’re not going to do that, are you, Maya?”
“No,” I replied, and he nodded.
“Good. Because I’d hate for whatever friendship we’re developing here to have its throat ripped out before its even had a chance to sing.”
“What?” I frowned; my eyes narrowed on him.
“Bad analogy, I know,” he replied flippantly. “I was just picturing throats being ripped out and the words just... kind of... fell out.”
