Page 15 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

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Phoenix

She’s lost weight. Her collarbones protrude above the bust of the lacy wedding dress. Her eyes are hazier, more haunted, more distant.

But the blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders looks exactly the same as it always has. And I want to do the same thing to it that I’ve always wanted: to knot my fists in it, pull her to me, and show her why she can only ever be mine.

I turn to Konstantin, who’s standing at the head of the aisle with a rifle nestled in his arms. “Clear the room,” I order. “Every last one of them.”

I don’t let go of Elyssa’s hand as my men make quick work of the remaining evacuation. A few hundred crying, frightened cultists are rounded up and herded out, Brother Raj included. My men follow.

In less than two minutes, we’re alone in the cathedral. Just the two of us.

I look back at Elyssa once more. The sun slanting through the stained glass lights her dress up with a sickening crimson color. Fitting—the scared girl in the blood-red wedding dress.

Almost exactly the same as the first time we met.

History may not repeat itself, but it often rhymes.

She tries to speak, but her voice breaks. “Theo—”

“Is safe,” I assure her coldly. “My men will take care of him.”

She nods, gnaws at her lip, and looks around as if there are answers to be found elsewhere. Then she glances back up to me. Maybe because she realizes the truth: the only answers left are inside of each of us.

The question is…

Who will break first?

“Why are you here, Phoenix?” she whispers.

I gaze at her for a while. Even now, knowing everything I know about this place and the people who make it run, it’s so goddamn difficult to see anything but innocence in those huge, amber eyes.

She’s purity itself—on the outside.

But on the inside, she’s as bad as the rest of them.

“I came to make things right.”

She shakes her head in dismay. “Well, then, it was a wasted trip. There’s nothing to fix. Look around you; this place has nothing to offer. It’s just a small little patch of desert with—”

“Dark secrets,” I interrupt. “Some very dark fucking secrets.”

The crease between her eyebrows gets deeper. “You’re mistaken.”

“Look around this room,” I instruct her. “Is there something here that stands out to you?”

She looks around furtively. I can trace the anxiety running down the lines of her face. She’s so fucking beautiful. She’d be even more so if I rid her of all those fucking layers of bloodstained lace.

“I don’t know what you want me to notice,” she says.

“Look there. And there. And there.” I jab my finger at each of the stained glass windows.

“What’s your point?” she explodes. “It’s just a window!”

“Wrong,” I say. “So fucking wrong. Look closer.”

She whirls around in place and stares at each of the windows in turn. Then she faces me again, helpless and confused. “I don’t know what you want me to see,” she whimpers. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

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