Inhaling, I open my eyes again. Look up. “I can do it.”
“Do what?” He shakes the iron. “You want to put his mark on your body?”
“Yes. I’ll do whatever else you want, just… just let me do this.”
He doesn’t respond for several seconds. My knees are screaming at this point, begging me to get up off the hard ground, but I ignore them. His eyes scan my face, searching for signs of deviance, I assume, but finally he backs off with a hoarse laugh.
“Always knew you were a bit of a freak. If you think this’ll help him sleep at night, have at it.”
Grabbing a pair of bolt cutters from a gardening bag he brought in from the garage, he fits them on the chain linking my cuffs and severs it. Adjusting my top, one of my hands drops into my lap, while he forces the iron into the other.
“Hurry up, before it cools down. I want this to hurt.”
Internally, my eyes roll, and I turn my wrist so the W faces me. My hands tremble so violently, it’s hard to position the shape correctly so it misses bone, and my entire face flushes as the heated metal draws nearer.
Gritting my teeth, I remind myself why I’m doing it.
That I’m taking back my power by not letting Preston inflict more damage.
For Jonas.
The first brush of the scalding iron against my skin yanks a whimper from my lips, and as I press in slowly, nausea bubbles like a cauldron and makes me dizzy.
Raw, searing pain ripples along the length of my collarbone, and the pungent scent of melted flesh floods my nostrils, suffocating me. I hold it there for as long as I can stand it, until my fingers are numb and my vision starts to blur from the sheer magnitude of the pain, and then I drop the iron to the floor.
A choked sound crawls from deep in my being, and I collapse forward with my hands on my knees, gulping down air.
Preston bends, brushing a few strands of hair from my face as he leans in to inspect. “Holy shit,” he breathes, a smile in his voice. “You actually fucking did it. What a crazy bitch—”
Before he can finish the sentence, the hand that had no role in my branding lashes out, striking him across the face once. He falls back on his ass, shocked, and it takes a second for it to set in what just happened.
Somewhere in the house, Daddy’s grandfather clock chimes. Footsteps carry through the halls, though I’m sure no one else is here.
As Preston scrambles back up, my hand whips out again, this time turning so the broken paintbrush wrapped in my palm slices across his cheek.
I’ve never been so happy to keep it tucked inside my dress.
Blood beads in the wound, and he lets out a cry as I jump up, hauling my foot back to drive my heel into his groin.
“Fuck,” he groans, doubling over with his arm over his lap. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
With a grin, I grab the iron and ignore my body’s aches. “You’ll have to catch me first, fucker.”
And then the lights go out.
42
My brothers and I learned the layout of our house as soon as we moved to Aplana. Navigating in the dark was a necessity for the three of us, albeit for different reasons.
It feels strange for me to be tiptoeing around now when the end goal isn’t just to stuff my face with junk food.
This is life or death, and I never would’ve imagined that skill would come in handy, but here we are.
Or, here I am, anyway. Sliding my palms along the walls and using muscle memory to keep me from tripping up.
I don’t know what happened to the power, but I’m not staying still so I can find out, either. I’ve discarded my heels, tucked my paintbrush back into my dress, and hold the iron against my leg as I walk, on high alert.
Preston’s footsteps don’t come for a long time, and even when they do, they echo through the corridors, announcing his presence. Though for some reason, he never leaves the immediate downstairs, occasionally coming over to the main staircase to stand silently, but then he always retreats back to the living room.
Almost as if he’s waiting me out.
Unfortunately for him, I will not be returning downstairs. If I can hide somewhere, I know Jonas will make it to me before anything else can happen.
Which makes the burn mark on my chest feel very stupid, but whatever.
It’ll heal.
Probably.
And if not? Well, at least there can be no denying my feelings for Jonas Wolfe anymore.
Still, the brand hurts, so I move as silently as possible to a half bathroom in the very back of the west wing of the mansion. Pushing the door open slowly, I crouch down and pry open the sink cabinet, digging around for antibacterial ointment or a bandage.
I find a little packet of something, but since it’s practically pitch black in here, I can’t confirm the contents. Tearing the paper open, I lift and smell, trying my best to detect scents present in a cream that would make the burn worse.
The ointment has a neutral scent, though, so I squeeze a generous amount onto my fingers and gingerly press them to the site. My body locks up, rejecting the contact, even as the cream seems to soothe the inflammation.
Measuring the size of the bandage against my palm, I open it up and fit the gauze against the half dollar-sized mark, breathing a small sigh of relief when it’s over.
Getting to my feet, I exit the bathroom, holding my breath as I plaster myself to the wall. No footsteps can be heard, so I start around the corner and head for my old room.
My hand grips the doorknob just as someone shoves a hand into my hair, yanking me back with a startled squeak.
There’s a single, split second where I think Jonas has finally found me.
That I’m saved.
But it’s Daddy’s voice that comes.
His hand that slaps down over my mouth as he shoves me into the door.
“Did you really think it’d be that easy, Helene? That you could ever just walk away from your duties to this family, and not have severe consequences?”
When I don’t answer—hello, can’t answer—he cracks my skull against the wood. My vision darkens at the corners, bright speckles of light flashing behind my eyelids.
“You’ll go back downstairs, and you’ll finish what you started with Preston and his friends. You’ll let them fuck you until you bleed, or get pregnant, or whatever the hell it is they want to do to you, and then you’ll be returning to the compound as soon as they’re done. Got it?”
Sliding his hand away, he shakes me a little. “Do you fucking understand, Lenny? All this time you thought your role was to be my little helper. The face of Primrose Realty.” He laughs, and the sound makes me physically ill. “I was just priming you to see how much you’d be able to take. See what you’d tell people. Turns out, your mother and I raised you better than we realized.”
My eyes burn, tears threatening to spill over as his disgusting words assault me. The fractures in my heart seem to split, shattering until there are a million little pieces—so many pieces, that I fear it can never be put back together.
“Why?” I whisper, my voice utterly broken.
Reality is supposed to be what you make of it, but I don’t remember asking for this.
“Because they’re willing to pay, baby girl. And our world revolves around the almighty dollar. You just don’t know it yet, because I’ve been protecting you all this time. But it’s time I fed you to the wolves, otherwise you’re never going to learn your lesson.”