Page 16 of Ruthless Dream

The garden is more of a courtyard, something straight out of a gothic film. Roses and vines curl along the walls. There’s a fountain splashing. The full moon is high, the stars hidden thanks to gray clouds.

I light a cigarette, letting it dangle from my hand. I’m not a smoker, but I appreciate the excuse. The only other man here finishes his own and heads back inside.

I circle slightly, a long sigh tearing from my chest. My shoes are scuffed, something that aggravates me. I should have noticed before I got here. I step on a fallen leaf, a crunch filling my ears when I notice her.

I’m not one to be suspicious, but she could be a ghost, she’s so silent in the moonlight.

She’s tucked herself into the corner of the courtyard, hidden by an ornamental tree and shrubbery.

A jagged, white scar runs down her cheek.

I’ve come across plenty of scars in my lifetime. Men who got into shit they shouldn’t have. Or survived accidents that should have killed them.

The serrated skin down this otherwise delicate creature, and the fact that I had no idea she’d been standing there, make me jump.

“Sorry.” I curse myself, angry at reacting.

The woman’s small and mousy. At first I think she’s shaking like a leaf before I understand the movement is so her long dark curls cover her face. Cover her scar.

“Uh, sorry,” I say again, when she silently heads inside like I’ve chased her out of the courtyard. I squint after her, pondering the idea that I just came across a genuine ghost. But ghosts wouldn’t wear sneakers, right?

“Fuck,” I say under my breath. The last thing I need is to be accused of upsetting someone’s woman. Though, I’m wondering if she was upset in the first place. She looked anxious, but not high, and I smelled no cigarette smoke.

My puzzling is interrupted when I hear noise from the other side of the courtyard. Maybe it’s the influence of the ghostly woman, but I step back, taking cover among the bushes.

“Don’t even think about it.” A female’s voice cuts through the air. No nonsense. Like she’s exasperated.

A man chuckles, and a third sense opens in the back of my mind. I know who it is before the female confirms it for me.

“I’m serious, Elijah.” The voice is still hard. Like a mother telling a toddler to cease and desist. “Go back around.”

Elijah Zimin’s voice holds nothing but amusement. “Can a man not merely stumble into a courtyard looking for a rose in the twilight?”

“Save your fucking poetry, asshole.”

My brows hit my hairline. Fuck me, she’s playing with fire, this woman, speaking to a Zimin like that.

But Lev’s heir merely laughs.

“Go back inside,” the female warns.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll cut your legs off.”

I’m inclined to believe her. Maybe Elijah is too. I hear movement, like he might be trying to test the waters by taking a step forward.

There’s another scuffle, and through tree branches I catch sight of a woman angling her body in front of the Zimin. Physically blocking him from going any further.

“Turn the fuck back around, Elijah.”

“Or you’ll cut my legs off?”

“Yes.”

“Leave me here to bleed out?”

“I would never allow you to pollute the roses in such a way.”