Page 144 of Gravehouse

My eyes snap to Asher.

He’s still standing there, watching me come apart. The scar across his throat catches the light, a pale rope of healed tissue that I’ve traced with my fingers, with my tongue, never askingthe right question, never letting myself wonder why a man who answers to no one wears a mark like that.

The final initiation.

Everything seems miles beneath me, blood thudding in my ears. He let them cut him. He knelt, Asher knelt, and let a blade split his throat open. That was what it cost to become Le Parrain.

Le Parrain.

I look at him. The snowboarder, the brat, the man who fights me and kisses me, and underneath all of it, the head of the French mob. The one Emeric himself was so afraid of?—

The dream that triggered all of this opens again in my head, different this time.

Emericdidn’tclaim Le Boucher.

I lift my hands in front of me like I’m holding that very same mugshot, only now it’s a full, detailed sketch of a younger Asher.

My hand flies to my mouth to stop myself from spewing.

“I feel sick.”

“Baby…” Asher steps closer and I can’t even find the strength to push him away.

My eyes lift to his. “Liars.”

“Breathe,” Asher says, his voice distant.

I can’t breathe. I can’t stop the flood. Every locked door Emeric planted in my head is swinging open and the light pouring through burns, showing me the architecture of a cage I’ve been living in since I was old enough to hold a blade.

“There was a house that needed to be built, but first, it needed the foundation—” Emeric pointed to Leon, before landing on Luce, “and the walls, they need to be strong enough to keep everyone and everything out.” Then he landed on Punk. “Until it was time to play house.”

They all knew. Every single one of them fucking knew.

My mouth opens. Can I even be bothered arguing?

Betrayal slams into me all at once—every kiss, every fight, every fucking lie. Rage arrives right behind it and my arm is already moving.

I drive my fist into his cheek with a satisfying crack that shudders through my split knuckles.

Pain tears through my side, but I don’t care. My eyes stay on him, the rest of the room dropping away.

He laughs, and my knife clears its sheath before the sound dies. I drag the edge across his chest, drawing a thin line of blood.

“—Ivy!” Luce, I think, but I’m too locked in to care.

Asher’s mouth curves, smug. “Go on. Do it.” Silence. I wish I fucking could. I wish I could just be done with everything.

Sensing my hesitation, his lip twitches. “Camille!”

What the fuck!

My knife swings toward her, and he fills the space where her throat had been, blade tip pressed to his chest again.

My head jerks back. Of all his bullshit, this is what I’m most pissed about?

Who cares… I just am.

“You fucking protect her?” My voice lifts on the end.