Page 16 of The Heir
I'm speechless. He fucked me speechless. All I can do is gasp in breath after breath. My mind slowly comes back online, and my eyes refocus on the bunker room around us. A droplet of sweat trickles from my forehead, down my temple, and gets lost in my hair.
"Holy shit," I breathe. "Do you smell that?"
"Hm?" He gently removes himself to lie down and runs a hand down my exposed arm. "Smells like Melnyk is making breakfast, and I know Roman has news on Ella. Or would you prefer to stay here?"
Ella's name throws a metaphorical bucket of ice water over me. Fuck. I clutch the blankets back and roll over, shoving my face into the pillow. We're not safe, not really. I doubt that Ella would storm a seemingly abandoned cabin in West Virginia, but we can't stay here forever. And I don't want to. I have no doubts that Dante will let me lick my wounds and recuperate, but I don't fucking want to.
That asshole stole my future, and I'm gonna end hers.
"What's the news?" I ask as I throw the blankets off again. "Also, what the hell am I gonna wear?"
"I won't lie, love. I didn't have the time—or space—to pack all of your clothes, but I brought some I think you'll like," he says with a shit-eating grin. He hops out of bed, pulls on his sweatpants, and disappears for a moment. In less than a minute, he reenters with a duffel bag and tosses it onto the bed.
Warily, I unzip the bag and let out a squeal. My years-old hoodie and pajama pants are neatly folded at the top, and I burst into tears again. I don't think I've ever undressed and redressed faster in my life. I willnotmiss the scratchy, jail-issued bra and granny panties. My old clothes feel like the world's most comforting hug. "You remembered!"
"I pay attention to my wife," Dante says with that cocky grin I love so much. He gathers the discarded bra and panties from the floor. "What do you want to do with these?"
"Burn them. I don't care. I don't ever want to see them again." Digging further into the bag, I find enough underwear to last me a month. My fuzzy socks are clean and paired perfectly, nestled between various comfy—but flattering—pants and shirts. He even packed my favorite black floral dress. God, I really don't deserve him.
"Consider it done, love." He shoves the offending articles of clothing in his pocket. "Let's get some food in you, and we'll talk plans."
Scurrying up the stairs, I find the man from last night—Melnyk, I think?—stationed at the stainless steel range, spatula in hand. Bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs are piled high on a serving platter, while pancakes gently toast on a cast-iron griddle. Helooks up with a gentle smile and motions to the rustic wooden chairs lining the granite island. "Sit. Eat."
I don't have to be told twice. Dante fills a coffee cup for me while I serve myself a heaping spoonful of the eggs and drizzle real maple syrup on a pancake. With the first bite, my eyes roll back in my head and a very inappropriate moan falls from my lips.
"This is, without a doubt, the best food I've ever had in my life." I shove another forkful in my mouth and moan again.
"Keep those moans to yourself, love. Unless you want me to kill every man in this room," Dante whispers into my ear, and I blush.
"You wouldn't dare." I point my fork at him.
"Please do not," Melnyk pipes up. The flush spreads from my cheeks to the tips of my ears. I'm not used to being in such close quarters with (basically) strangers.
"Sorry, Melnyk." I smile sweetly before turning my attention back to Dante. "So, Ella?"
"Ella learned of your escape—rather, the van crash—early this morning," Roman announces from the leather sofa. "The news articles don't have anything confirmed, but early reports indicate that the van, along with all presumed passengers, burnt down to the steel frame."
I shiver at the thought. I know they were dead already—or just about—but the concept of burning in that white-hot fire makes my skin crawl.
"Per our surveillance, Ella left her home and followed the same highway to investigate the crash herself," Roman continues. "They will find the remains, of course. And most likely bullets. And casings. We did not, ah, have time to properly clean up after ourselves."
"Shit." I won't pretend to know much about forensics, but can't they trace guns to bullets and/or casings? Are the guns that Dante and Roman and company have, like, legally purchased? It would honestly surprise me if they were.
"This, of course, means that the Seraph are aware of Melody's escape." Roman averts his eyes from me, looking toward one of the windows, into the Appalachian forest.
The Seraph? Did he mean someone named Sarah? Or is that one of the people from GoCon I haven't met? I can't imagine why someone from GoCon would care. "Sorry, the who?"
Roman snaps his gaze to Dante. "You never told her?"
"Told me what?" I look over to Dante, who's currently inspecting a speck of dust on the countertop. "Dante, told mewhat?"
The longer it takes for him to reply, the more my lungs constrict with anger. After all this, after all the bullshit and kidnapping and stalking andanotherkidnapping, after I went to fucking jail, he's hiding shit from me? I don't even realize how hard I'm gripping the stupid fork until Melnyk gently extracts it from my hand. Somehow, I've bent the metal without even noticing.
"Sorry, miss. I do not wish to see anyone here stabbed," Melnyk whispers. I can't even look at him. I can't look at anyone but my stupid, asshole, dickhead, fuckface husband.
"What thefuckhaven't you told me, asshole?!" I shriek and lunge at the man. Dante—thedickhead—sidesteps but catches me before I hit the floor. "Why the fuck won't you say anything? Talk!"
"I'm… sorry." He gently guides me back to the dining chair. "I didn't want to worry you."
