Page 18 of This Dark Descent
She wanted to make them feel powerless.
“We’re sorry!” one of the men stammered out. “We ne—ah!” He choked off as Damien’s elbow slammed into his sternum.
“You don’t speak to her,” he said.
The man gasped, struggling for air. Ari expected to feel sorry for him, and to an extent, she did. But there was also a part of her that felt this was right.
He’d brought this on himself. He deserved it.
And yet she couldn’t bring herself to take the weapon from Damien.
He must have seen the decision in her eyes, because he retracted his hand with a small nod. One of the men let out a choked sob of relief.
Then Damien slid the brass knuckles over his fingers and entered the cell.
CHAPTER 7
MIKIRA
THE ADAIR GROUNDSwere something out of a fairy tale. The sea of lavender plants stretched around the entire estate, undulating in the gentle afternoon breeze. Even in the midst of summer, the Veradell sky was overcast, but the air was filled with the scent of lavender and pleasantly warm.
Mikira wanted to stretch out on her back on a patch of grass and just breathe for a while.
It would have been idyllic—if not for Reid. He trudged along as though the task of showing her the stables was the most absurd thing anyone had ever asked him to do. Why did her family’s fate have to rely on her getting along with this gloomy cloud of emotion?
“What’s your problem?” she asked.
Reid shot her a dark look. “I have better things to do than babysit you.”
“Ah, yes, like stare at slides of blood under a microscope all day. You must be really popular at parties.”
“At least I can get into parties.”
Mikira’s cheeks flushed, but Reid had already turned away. She was still considering flinging a knife at him when they rounded a final corner and the stable spread out before them.
She’d never seen anything like it before.
The Adair stable stretched the length of her family’s several times over. It sat at the forefront of acres of emerald grass divided into neat pastures by white picket fences and filled with horses of every color. Her gaze leapt from a circular arena where a woman lunged a piebald horse, to a rectangular course set with jumps of varying heights, before settling at last on the racecourse.
It was easily four hundred yards in length, the dirt track a pale brown in the filtered sunlight and peppered with the imprint of hooves. Several other racers were taking their horses in easy laps, the rhythm of their steps echoing up to where they stood.
“Well, at least now I know how to shut you up.”
Reid’s voice broke the spell, and Mikira glared at him. “How is it no one’s pushed you under a galloping horse yet?”
He sneered at her and stomped toward the stable. The fresh scent of hay and leather greeted them inside, where horses poked their heads out through the half-open doors of their stalls. Each was one of the finest she’d ever seen—sleek heads and muscular necks, coats that shone and luxurious, neatly trimmed manes.
“They’re gorgeous,” she breathed before she could stop herself.
She expected Reid to make a scornful comment, but he seemed as enthralled by the beasts as she was.
“Where’s Iri?” she asked. “I’ll ride him.”
“That’s a stupid idea,” Reid replied, shattering whatever strange image she’d been constructing of him. This was the boy she expected. “Your stallion’s not been trained at the gate. At best he’ll do nothing when it opens, at worst he’ll throw you. Pick another horse.”
Mikira started to object on the sheer principle that agreeing with Reid felt like impaling herself on a jagged spike, but held back. He was right. Iri had never been pinned into a starting gate with a mechanical door that snapped open and a bell that rang in his sensitive ears.
Folding her arms, Mikira jerked her head at the line of stalls. “Fine. You choose.”
