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My head lolled in Rhylie’s direction. Blood still dripped from her mouth, but she hadn’t mentioned the pain. A slave’s pain only fed the monsters, and maybe she knew the truth.
I was a monster, too.
Blinking her in, I could understand why Cat loved her so much. She was selfless, courageous—despite the tears, and loved with her whole heart. She didn’t deserve the shit hand she’d been dealt, and I could make her life a little better or a little worse with the truth or a lie.
I danced between both, avoiding a real answer. “I’d like to think she’s had it better than you have.”
Her swollen features dipped, disappointed by my cryptic reply that didn’t really tell her anything.
A thought popped into my head. I had brothers now. People I cared about.
I’d want dirty blood staining my knife-wielding hands if someone hurt them. That option wasn’t there for Rhylie, and if that were the case for me, I’d still want to know if one of them was hurt.
“She was taken.” I swallowed. I felt invisible claws dig at me for information, but in reality, it was only Rhylie’s stare.
“I saw her a few times after that. But it’s been years since I saw her last. I have no idea what happened to her.”
Rhylie looked so angry, her tiny nose widening as her nostrils flared for a moment before she spat blood into my face, trying to yell at me. Her hands came up and slapped at me, hitting anywhere she could. I let her release her frustrations because I deserved the beating. I deserved so much more than a beating. And I’d no doubt be the cause of some trouble later with my brother. If he was around when I got home. He could hit so much fucking harder than what Rhylie was doing. And too often, I craved bruises, punishments for the shit I’d done. But I never told anyone that.
Rhylie’s expression didn’t soften, causing her extra pain, until I said, “It fucking kills me. Not knowing what happened to her.”
The unknown when it came to Cat tore me apart. But I had to believe she was alive and that my nightmares were wrong.
She was the reason I was still in this shithole. The reason I’d never gone back to the stage.
Alerion had vowed that if I ever left, if I ever publicly spoke out, she’d be murdered. If I stayed in music, she’d die a painful death. He wanted me forgotten by the world.
I’d let that bastard control my life to keep her alive, and all the while, she was probably wishing for death.
He was gone now, but his nephew had taken over, too happy to mimic the devil.
I stood, brushing off the memories and the dust from this room.
“I’m gonna have to touch you for what comes next.”
I knew she wouldn’t want that, only comfortable enough to touch me when her rage outweighed her panic.
She shook her head violently. Blood splashed the jeans I’d managed to keep clean since being in this filthy cell.
I moved to her, dropping so close she couldn’t move between me and the wall. She whimpered, gritting what was left of her teeth when I pushed her hair from her face.
Breath stalled in my lungs, and my eyes blinked at the sight of her, taking in the vacant hole where her left eye should be.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head again, this time nowhere near as aggressively. She reached for the pad and pen so she could write more messages.
It’s too late for sorry. You could have saved her. I won’t forgive you for bringing her into this.
Her sadness cascaded down her cheeks, her nostrils flaring again.
My head bobbed, just the once, understanding so deeply. “I don’t, either.”
“She’s probably dead,” she tried to voice, and I heard those words loud and clear. My spine snapped straight, and I didn’t even think before I grabbed her pained cheeks and squeezed around her bruises.
“She isn’t.” I didn’t know that for sure, but I wouldn’t believe it. “She can’t be.”
She could be...
