Page 4 of Broken Queen
“You know you’ll never be the director, right?”
I wanted to scream. Of course, I’ll be the director. I’ve given up half of my adult teeth and will give up more. I’ve given myself to countless men just to make sure the secret society always stays ahead. I will be the queen, even if I need to kill you and every person in this goddamned building.
But there was a nagging truth to his words that bit inside of me, feasting on my insides like a grumble of maggots.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was all I would ever be. Holding these women while they died. Wondering when I was going to have enough power to do something about it.
“Heiress or not,” the man chuckled, “it doesn’t take a genius to see that your father will never let you be a member.”
I clenched my jaw, every nerve inside of my mouth strained with rage and pain. But Logan appeared in the doorway, motioning for me to come with him. I gently laid the nameless woman on the floor. Then I stood up, wiping my bloody hands on my sides.
“Leave her alone,” I ordered the black-haired man.
“Or what?” the man asked.
Logan cleared his throat. “Obey the heiress or the director will find out.”
The man adjusted his black shirt, streaked with blood, then stood up too, facing us. “What will happen to my wife?”
“She’ll be added to the catacombs,” I said.
The black-haired man curtly bowed his head, then dashed forward, eager to get past us. But before he could, I put a hand on his shoulder, just like he had done to me. He stilled, tension brewing in his eyes.
“You may have shown your dedication tonight,” I said. My mouth throbbed, but I continued: “But we are watching you. The board. The other members. And me. The only reason my fiancé hasn’t killed you is because you’re obviously valuable to the Syndicate.”
Logan stiffened beside me. He wasn’t a sadist like his father, but perhaps one day, he would learn to like it, as I had. The black-haired man’s eyes glazed over, a flash of anger rumbling through his posture.
“All hail the heiress,” the black-haired man said.
Anger shot through me. At that moment, I made a promise to myself: one day, I was going to kill him. He would bleed out while I laughed.
But I had to wait until I had more power on my side. Revenge was sweetest when it was unexpected. I’d give this black-haired man time to forget me.
Before that, I wanted to indulge in a little fun.
“Say it again, but on your knees this time,” I ordered.
“Zira,” Logan warned, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I kept my eyes on the black-haired man and put up a hand, silencing Logan. “Get on your knees and say it again, or I will have you killed,” I said to the man. “On. Your. Knees.”
The man hesitated. He peeked over at Logan, then, realizing that Logan was truly on my side, he turned back to me. He bowed his head and knelt down.
“All hail the heiress,” he said.
My cheeks hurt, my whole mouth swollen and tender, but I smiled.
“Carry on now,” I said.
He walked past us, leaving his late wife on the floor. I made a mental note to oversee her burial, but right then, I needed to clear my head. Logan put an arm around me, his posture awkward, but soothing too. He was so unlike his father; he must have been a replica of his mother. Soft and kind. Protective too.
“Disgusting prick,” Logan muttered. “She was his wife. Who does that?”
Warmth swelled inside of me. I leaned my head on Logan’s shoulder. I didn’t care what happened to other people—not really, anyway. But I wanted to cling to that small part inside of Logan that wanted to protect his future wife.
We were so disposable here. Easily discarded. And that imbalance dug itself deeper into my skin each time I was sacrificed, like a splinter I could never quite get out. I saw my mother in every powerless woman I passed.
And sometimes, I saw myself too.
