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"Hey, snap out of it," Adam barked, noticing my momentary disengagement. "We're talking about fucking here, not your goddamn soul-searching."
"Sorry," I muttered. But my eyes couldn't help but drift to the brand on my forearm. It was Priscilla's doing, her way of marking me as hers when I'd stepped out of line once. Fucking cunt.
"Christ, Chris," Adam said, following my gaze. "You need to let that shit go. It happened years ago. You're still alive, ain't ya?"
"Alive, sure," I admitted, taking a swig of my own drink. "But sometimes I wonder if there's any part of me left that isn't tainted by this fucked-up life."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "You're just as twisted as the rest of us, man. That's why you're still here. You've got a taste for the darkness, same as me."
"Maybe," I allowed, forcing a grin.
"Enough of this shit," Adam declared, slamming his glass onto the table. "We've got bitches to fuck and money to make. Let's get back to the good stuff."
For now, I had no choice but to play the role I'd been given – the ruthless mafia enforcer with a heart as black as coal.
"Alright," I agreed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's go show these whores what they're missing."
As we walked out of the room, my thoughts turned to Ella, the girl who seemed to embody everything that I wasn't – light, warmth, goodness. And yet, it was my job to drag her down into the darkness with me. I couldn't help but wonder if there was any chance at all that she might be able to pull me back into the light instead.
That night as I lay on my pristine sofa, images of Ella haunted my thoughts. She was a fucking angel in this godforsaken world. And it was my job to ruin her. Just another one of Priscilla's orders – the woman who had given birth to me and taught me everything I knew about cruelty.
"Chris," her voice echoed through my mind, "you're nothing without me. Remember that."
I clenched my fists, anger coursing through me. Even though she was my mother, I knew she'd have no problem cutting me down if I ever dared to cross her. Such a cunt was she.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, thinking back to the day my father died. I was just a teenager back then, still learning the ropes of our twisted family business. But even then, I'd known that Priscilla had played a part in his death. She'd planned the whole fucking thing. From killing him, to marrying Ella's dad to get to her. Ella had always been nothing but a prize to her and she bode her time. Right up until she poisoned him, leaving Ella destitute without her 'kindness'. I'd watched Ella ever since. I knew she was a product to be sold, but damn if she hadn't become something else in the last two years. Twenty-three looked good on her.
"Your father made his choice," Priscilla had said coldly when I confronted her. "He chose weakness, and I had to do what was necessary for the survival of the Cinder Crew."
"Was it really necessary?" I had spat back at her, fury raging through my veins. "To fucking kill your own husband?"
"Family means nothing in this world, Chris," she'd replied, her eyes devoid of any emotion. "Power is everything."
With each passing year, the darkness within me grew deeper and more consuming. Priscilla molded me into the perfect weapon, ensuring that I would never be able to escape her grasp. And with every brutal act I committed, I could feel the last remnants of my humanity slipping away.
"Remember, Chris," she'd say whenever I had an inkling to disobey her, "loyalty is everything. Fail me, and you'll suffer the consequences."
And she hadn't been lying. The searing pain from the brand she'd burned into my skin when I'd helped a girl escape when I was still a teen, lingered in my memories. If I ever tried to defy her again, the punishment would be far worse. Death probably.
"Fuck," I muttered again, rubbing the scar on my arm. The thought of Ella brought a strange mix of hope and despair, as if she represented everything I could never have. But it didn't matter. I had no choice but to remain loyal to the Crew – even if it meant betraying the one person who might have been able to save me from myself.
The door slammed open, and Priscilla stormed in like a fucking hurricane. She had that look on her face – the one that always made me want to shrink back into the shadows. But I stood my ground, gritting my teeth as I prepared for whatever fresh hell she had in store for me. I was fucking thirty-two goddamn years old and the sight of her beady eyes as they fixated on me always made me nervous.
"Christopher," she regarded me coldly. "It's time. We're selling Ella to Gustov. He killed the last one and has requested a replacement."
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. I'd heard stories about Gustov's 'training' sessions – how he broke the girls, twisted their minds and bodies until they were nothing but empty shells. The thought of Ella being subjected to that kind of brutality made my blood boil.
"Are you deaf?" Priscilla snapped, her dark eyes boring into mine. "I said it's time. You know what you have to do."
"Yeah, I fuckin' heard you," I growled, clenching my fists at my sides. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could feel the familiar rage building inside me. But I knew better than to let it show. "When do we take her?"
"Tonight," she replied, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "And make sure you leave no trace behind. I don't want any complications. She will be snug as a bug in her bed, and I'll leave the doors unlocked. In and out."
"Understood." The word tasted like bile in my mouth, but I forced myself to swallow it down. I couldn't afford to let my emotions get in the way. Not now. There was a reason I was her go-to. It didn't matter what happened, I always came through.
As Priscilla turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of her satisfied smirk, and I knew she could sense my internal struggle. She reveled in my pain. And as much as I hated to admit it, she had me right where she wanted me.
"Fuck this," I whispered, slamming my fist into the wall. The pain was a welcome distraction – anger, bitterness, hatred, and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. A flicker of hope? Or maybe just the desperate need to believe that there was still some good left in this fucked-up world. What a fucking mess. I'd never felt this level of emotion for anyone. Ever.
