Page 131 of Gravehouse

Her mouth moves while my head keeps circling the same pieces: Asher as the little boy, the recruiter, Le Parrain, and theliar.

“Ivanya, you and I aren’t friends. In fact, I’d prefer to just kill you and get this over with, but Emeric is so hell-bent on living the Dubois way, so let me give you a hint of how this is going to go.”

My eyes fix on her.

She grins. “Asher is in love with me.”

My jaw loosens.

“We’re always going to be number one.”

I sag against the leather.

Emeric steps into view, studying me. His burned skin smooths around his eyes. A familiar nose follows, then a smile.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a wide grin. “What is it, my Mariée?”

My head moves once from side to side. The final thread in my brain pulls apart.

“Ivanya, you’re such a special girl. You’re going to be so much help one day. You want to help Daddy, right?” He smiles up at me. I loved when Daddy smiled, especially his eyes and that funny dent on his nose.

Leather bites my wrists. Blood dries beneath my nose. Camille sits a few feet away, one heel tucked behind the leg of her chair as she watches.

My ribs loosen. The raw place inside my chest goes quiet. The boy on the yacht slips out of reach, taking his blue eyes and wet hair with him. Asher follows. Nonna’s kitchen goes next, then Jord and Punk. The faces blend into darkness, and I let them.

I lift my head, looking straight at him. “Dad?”

Emeric’s smile spreads. His burned cheek pulls tight beside his teeth, and pride brightens the eyes I’ve spent years obeying. “I knew it.”

He leans close, giving me the words he buried where no one else could reach them. “Sic ’em.”

My pulse stalls before the next beat slams through me, clearing the black from my vision.

Names, promises, rules, and fragile human attachments strip away. Pain reduces to information: pressure at both wrists, low blood flow in my left hand, buckle pins facing out, three inches of slack near my waist.

Camille starts breathing faster. I remember Asher’s hands, his mouth, and the diamond on my finger. I remember shooting him and crying over his body.

Ivanya loved him.

I don’t know her.

My fingers curl, testing the leather again. The buckle at my right wrist shifts against the wall, revealing cheap hardware. Emeric expects the trigger to keep me obedient. Stronger restraints would have been a waste.

He’s right.

Camille shoots out of her chair, the legs shrieking across concrete. She retreats until her back meets the wall, one hand clamped over her mouth. Her eyes drag across my face, searching for the woman she came in to taunt.

That woman is gone.

“Mariée de la Mort.” Camille’s voice breaks around the name.

I watch her swallow. The pulse beneath her jaw beats fast. Nine feet separate us, with one chair in the path. She has a slight limp to her right. I could put her down before she reaches the door.

Emeric steps between us, blocking my view of her. He places two fingers beneath my chin and tips my face toward the fluorescent light, inspecting his work.

“There you are, my Mariée.” Satisfaction softens his mouth. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I say.