Page 44 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“Yes?”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t have to keep defending myself to you,” I say, echoing Charity’s words.

“Oh, I think you do,” he says grimly. “And if you ever want to see your son again… you will.”

11

Elyssa

Can it be that, not too long ago, he was teaching me to float? Guiding me through the water with sure hands, with loving hands?

I can still spy glimpses of that man hidden behind the steel exterior of the don who now sits opposite me.

At least, I think I can. But it’s hard to see past the fiery aura sometimes. He’s both glorious and terrifying. Like staring into the sun.

“Why should I have to defend myself to you?” I shoot back. “You’ve already made up your mind about me.”

“Is that what you think?”

“How am I supposed to think any different?” I finger the folds of my dress. “Even this dress is meant to make a point, isn’t it? You can keep me from my son. Lock me in a room. Cut me off from my parents. Dress me up the way you want. Because you’re the one in control. And I’m just a little doll for you to toss around.”

“Is that your assessment?”

“What’s yours?”

“That you’ve been a pawn in Astra Tyrannis’s game all these years. That Josiah, that arrogant fucking wannabe Dalai Lama, is the puppeteer working on behalf of the powers that be.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How would Josiah have helped—”

“By supplying them with women and children,” Phoenix replies, cutting me off. “Breeding stock for those sick motherfuckers to sell like cattle at auction.”

I open my mouth but snap it shut almost immediately.

That can’t be true. That doesn’t make sense.

No.

No.

No.

“Do you recall any young women leaving the community?” he presses through my haze of denial.

“I…” My heart is beating fast in my chest. Do I remember? Maybe. But what I remember most of all was how normal it always seemed.

Girls disappeared. Overnight, in the blink of an eye. One day, they were next to you at meals, at ceremonies, at sermons. The next, they were gone—and no one ever said a word. If you asked, you were told they’d been sent to where they were always meant to be. No follow-up questions permitted.

Funny how you can swallow down evil for so long that it starts to taste like anything else.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I remember.”

He nods, satisfied. “And you never questioned where they went?”

“It was… normal,” I explain in a quivering voice. “They went… where they were supposed to go.”

“And what about children?” he asks. “Were they ‘supposed to go’ somewhere?”

I rack my brain and try to remember. “I… I can’t remember…”

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