Page 25 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“I told you, didn’t I? I warned you:Never trust a man.”

“I thought he was different.”

“Does he have a cock between his legs?” she demands. “Huh? Then he’s no different. You are nothing more than a place for him to stick it.”

I’m not used to seeing Charity angry. Haughty, yes. Proud, yes. Defiant, yes. But angry—at me? Not once in the entire time I knew her.

“I’m sorry,” I sob. “I should have listened to you.”

She shakes her head and turns her back to me again. She’s still staring off into the distance behind the veil, but as far as I can tell, there’s nothing there to see. Just a vague gray light.

“I miss you,” I whisper softly, not even sure she can hear.

“You have to get on without me now,” she replies coldly. She’s starting to walk away from me. The further she gets, the lonelier I feel. “You have to let me go. Stand up on your own two feet.”

“I’m scared…”

“We all are. I was, too.”

“You never showed it.”

“What good would that have done?” she laughs. “Showing fear would only have made me more vulnerable. If people know that they can hurt you, they will.”

She’s drifting off almost out of sight. Fading to a blurred nothingness on the other side of the veil I can’t penetrate.

“Wait!” I cry out. “Don’t go!”

She doesn’t say anything. Just retreats further and further.

“Charity? Charity!” I scream, panic clawing at my throat. “Charity, please come back! I can’t do this alone!”

A storm of shadows converges around me, and it’s like they have claws. Claws that prick and prod at me, flaying my skin open like needles dragging along my bare limbs.

“Get up. It’s time to get up!”

It’s Charity’s voice speaking—but not really. As I listen in, it’s deeper, more commanding. Detached and impatient in a way she never was.

“… Get up.”

My eyes fly open and I dart upright as consciousness struggles to make sense of reality.

It was a dream. It was all just a dream.

My memory comes rushing back to me.

Phoenix storming the wedding. Stabbing Josiah. Saying “I do.”

The panic attack, Phoenix ripping my wedding dress off of me, making violent love on the altar…

And then him leaving.

I huddled on the cathedral altar for a while, shivering not with cold but with fear. I didn’t dare leave or even budge an inch. Not without knowing what Phoenix intended to do next.

I must’ve fallen asleep at some point, and Phoenix or his men moved me while I was out.

Now, I’m in a bedroom I don’t recognize.

I don’t recognize either of the two people standing at my bedside, either. One is a pretty, petite brunette with shy features. The other is a tall man with a blocky chin and pointed nose.

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