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Silence settles between us again, thinner this time, and I know I should tell her.
The thought has been clawing at me since Billy bled out at my feet, moments after spitting truths like poison because he knew he was a dead man. What he admitted he did to her when she was held captive by the Guardian. “Do you know how good it felt,” he whispers, “being the one to fuck her first? Listening to her choke on those pretty little cries when I ripped off her panties and forced her to take it? She begged me to stop…”
I’ve carried it like a live grenade ever since.
It’s the kind of truth that could crack the barely healed wounds already fragile inside her. The kind of thing that could send her spiraling into guilt or rage or memories she still can’t fully reach.
But Mateo?
If he knows, he’ll use it.
He’ll press every bruise he can’t see.
I stare out at DK arguing under the lights, buying myself another second.
Finally, I say, “When a man is backed up against a wall like this—staring death straight in the eye—he gets desperate.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Mateo will do anything to either get out of this or cause as much damage as he can on his way out.” I turn toward her. “He’ll lie, manipulate, and coerce. He may focus on what happened while you were kidnapped–details you haven’t recalled yet. I won’t put it past him to say whatever he can to rattle you. We’ll have no idea if they’re lies or the truth.”
Her chin lifts a fraction. “I’m not afraid of him.”
“I know.” That flare of defiance makes me so fucking proud of her. I hold her gaze. “Just try to remember he’s not trustworthy in any way. He’s the enemy, Nettie.”
Something flickers across her face at the nickname, but she doesn’t comment.
Outside, one of the guards steps back, and the gates begin to swing inward. DK walks back to the truck, yanks open the door, and slides inside.
“I finally got Wick on the phone,” he says, breathing a little harder than before. “He’s going to meet us in the driveway and take us to him.”
“Is he pissed?” I ask, pressing down on the gas to get through the gate before they change their minds.
“Oh, yeah.” He laughs. “But whatever. This is what happens when they decided to take our traitor and put him in their dungeon.”
The truck crawls up the long driveway, and the fact that I still haven’t told Ari the truth hangs heavy in my heart. Maybe that makes me a coward. Or maybe I just don’t know what to do with the fact that these feelings I have for her make everything more difficult.
Either way, I’m bracing myself for impact.
10
Arianette
Ghosts haunt this place. Lives lost under the harsh glare of light and blood loss from sharp objects before they’re carried off by Shadows, consecrated and sealed.
It’s called the Dungeon, and it’s somewhere deep under the Purple Palace. The air is cold, which feels good on my overheated skin after wearing the blindfold and inching down the humid passageways that made me feel like we were back in the tunnels, fighting for our lives. Tunnels. So many tunnels.
Blindfold off, I glance over my shoulder and almost startle when I catch my reflection in the two-way mirror. I’m looking for Hunter, who I know is in the control room behind the glass, but instead I see myself: Hair pulled back, dark circles under my eyes from too many nights sleeping in the hospital. Damon’s hoodie swallows me whole. His piercings drag with every movement–a reminder of who I belong to. I can barely find the girl that the King brought into his home to marry. I look different–feel different, too.
Turning back to the center of the room, I lock eyes with Damon standing by the door, arms crossed, every line of his body screaming that he doesn’t want to leave me in here alone.
But I need to do this on my own.
“Damon,” I say, my voice firm and steady.
The look he gives me is heavy with worry and frustration, reflecting a deep protective instinct that makes him want to step between me and every monster in the world. He’d do anything to take my place right now, but I know in my heart that he can’t.
Something shifted in me while I sat in that hospital room watching my husband fight for his life. All the helplessness, the fear, the endless trauma–it finally crystallized into something sharp and clear–and for the first time, I’m not drowning in murky waters and fragmented memories. I know exactly who I am. I know what I am. And I know what I’m willing to do to protect my men.
