Page 122 of Boy of Ruin
I hear the chains rattle again.
My name.
Muffled this time.
Softer.
They drugged him.
“Let me go, Lucifer,” I snarl. Maverick hasn’t moved, but I know he’s watching us. I know, and I don’t care.
I’ll let him watch his brother die, because of what he’s doing to mine.
“I’m going to hurt you, baby girl.” Those words are soft. Twisted. Haunting. His big blue eyes don’t leave mine, and I see how bloodshot the whites of them are. I see his long lashes, too, the deep circles, the signs of his exhaustion.
Maybe he missed me.
Maybe he’s just been coked up the entire time I’ve been gone, like he was while I was there.
“You can try,” I agree, “but if you don’t let him go, I’m going to kill you, Lucifer.”
He snorts, a dimple flashing in his pale skin as he brings the cigarette closer. “Let’s play a game. See who shoots first.”
“Lucifer.” Maverick’s voice is a warning.
I hear the cage rattle again.
My stomach twists into knots. It’s such a faint sound this time, like he’s fading. He’s fading away in there.
He’s terrified.
I know he is, and I hate my husband for putting him there.
“Why do you have him?” I ask, my voice hoarse as Lucifer’s fingers flex against my throat. “What are you going to do with him?”
Lucifer’s lips pull up into a sneer. “I’m going to torture him,” he whispers softly, bringing the cigarette so close I flinch. “I’m going to torture him, and I’m going to make him watch me fuck you, whether you want it or not.” His smile becomes more twisted and I feel the cherry against my face.
So fucking close to burning me.
He’s going to burn me.
I drive the knife in closer to his neck. He doesn’t even blink.
“And when I’m done,” he snarls, backing me up, still holding the cigarette close to my face, warmth heating my cheek, “when I’m done, I’m going to gut that child out of you because you know what, baby girl? I’m not so sure it’s fucking mine.”
I dig the knife into his shirt, through his skin, and he hisses but before I can plunge it all the way into his neck, he’s jerked away from me.
The cigarette falls through the wooden slats in the porch.
I don’t wait to see what Maverick is going to do to my husband. How much damage I caused. I run.
My bare feet skim across the porch, into the soft grass of the forest floor, and I see it. A truck. All my mind registers is black paint, dark windows, then I’m racing toward it, the bed of the truck.
There’s a tarp of some sort over something big and square.
My gut churns as I hear Maverick yelling at Lucifer, and Lucifer snarling back. I still have the knife clenched tight in my hand, but I have to drop it to the ground as I open the bed of the truck, place my palms on the interior and haul myself up, my heart beating too fast in my chest.
I hear it again.
