Page 89 of Breaking Isolde
I turn. Ms. Valence stands at the landing, lit by the red glow of the exit sign, white hair wild around her head, hands folded neatly at her waist.
She doesn’t look surprised to see us. She looks satisfied.
“I always wondered which of you would be the first to run,” she says, voice echoing down the hall, as if she’s about to give a lecture and we’re the only two idiots who showed up for class.
Isolde freezes, fingers digging into my wrist. I step in front of her, blocking the path.
Valence’s eyes skim me, then fix on Isolde. “You’re not as clever as you think, Mr. Grey. If you were, you’d realize the only way this ends is with you giving us the girl.”
Looking around, I see she’s alone. No muscle, no backup. No obvious weapon. But Valence is never unarmed. The Kings are probably waiting just outside, itching for a kill order. I consider making a run for it, but Valence has the leverage now. She’ll never let us out of here alive, not if she can help it.
“I see you’ve made your choice,” she says, with something like pity. “A shame. You had such promise.”
I bare my teeth, let her see that I’m past caring. “Get out of our way, Valence.”
She smiles, cold as dry ice. “The girl is not yours to save, Rhett. She proved herself unworthy. Hand her over and we will select you a new wife. You won’t even need to complete the whole ritual.”
Isolde tenses behind me, every muscle wired and ready. Valence keeps talking.
“The Kings will come. They will not show mercy, to either of you. They will not be kind. There will be no escape, no deal, no legacy. Only a lesson for those who dare defy us.”
I don’t think.
I close the distance in three steps, grab her by the arm, and push her against the wall. Her head snaps back but she doesn’t flinch. She looks me dead in the eye, and for a split second, I see something: pride. Or maybe hunger.
“You will never touch her,” I snarl. “Ever.”
She laughs. “You’re just like your father. He tried to bargain with us, too. Didn’t end well. Do you know how easy it is to convince the police that an alcoholic died from alcohol? Surprisingly simple.”
I shove her back, hard, her head bounces off the cement. She stands her ground, lips curling into a smile. “Go ahead. Make it count.”
I do.
I pin her by the throat, my forearm grinding into her windpipe. She’s light, bones and gristle and old venom, but she doesn’t fight. She just stares, glasses fogging, mouth twisted in a final, ghoulish grin.
“Isolde belongs to no one but herself,” I say, but my hand tightens anyway, and I think of all the girls like her—girls who never got a chance to run, or fight, or even scream.
Valence wheezes. Her lips go blue. I hold her there, steady, until the life leaks out of her, drop by drop, and her eyes glass over like a frog left in the sun. The last thing she does is smile, showing the worst teeth I’ve ever seen.
She slumps. I let her go, and her body slides to the floor, a tangle of velvet and pearls.
Isolde is shaking. I expect her to scream, or cry, or run. She does none of these. She kneels next to Valence, tilts her head, and studies the corpse like a puzzle. Then she looks up at me, eyes wide, and says, “Did you mean it? About me?”
“Every word.”
She smiles, wild and bright. “Good.”
I’m trying to figure out what the fuck to do now.
That’s when Bam appears, at the top of the stairs, hands shoved in his pockets, head cocked like a dog who just caught the scent of meat. He looks down at the mess, then at us, and shakes his head.
“Thought you’d never do it,” he says. “Took you long enough, Grey.”
I wipe my hands on my jeans, the stink of Valence’s skin clinging like glue. “You here to stop us?”
He snorts. “Nah. Was hoping you’d ask for help with the body, though. Never did like her.”
Isolde starts to laugh. It’s a wet, hysterical sound, but I like it. It sounds like freedom.
