I stare blankly across the room, tuning out the news story playing in the background. “So, who’s next?”
Levi drops down beside me, his arm falling over the back of the couch. “My guess? One of Victor's remaining sons. They are hot-headed, and after learning that Ronaldo killed their older brother, his death won’t be enough for them. They’ll be out for blood and go for Ronaldo’s wife or his father … most likely his father considering Antonio’s relationship with Monique. But they are too inexperienced to go up against a man like Louis. He will slaughter them and once he’s done that, he will go after Victor.”
“But the ball is in Louis’ court, right? After Victor killed Ronaldo. It should be his turn to retaliate, not Victor’s sons.”
“Technically, yes,” Roman says. “But in the real world, you strike when you can. War is not a forgiving game, nor is it fair. Louis is a patient man who would prefer peace within the family, but once Victor’s sons come for him and he gets a taste of blood, he won’t be stopped. Not until Phillip steps in.”
“No shit,” I breathe, reaching across and grabbing Roman’s expensive whiskey right out of his hands. I throw it back before he gets a chance to rescue it, needing the hit more than I need my next breath. “This is … literally insane.”
“One by one his soldiers will fall,” Roman says slowly, his eyes darkening with his sinister plan. “My father loses his inner circle, and every death brings us one step closer to freedom and power.”
“Just wait until the wives get involved,” Marcus murmurs, excitement brewing in his devilish eyes. “Ariana won’t know what hit her.” And not a moment later, he drops down on the big two-seater couch across the room and looks back at Levi with an amused smirk. “You know, Shayne thought you were serious when you told her that black gown was Mom’s? She thought we’ve been locked in this big castle, getting off on chicks dressed as our dead mother.”
“Well, fuck,” Levi laughs. “We’re screwed in the head, but even we know where to draw the line.”
21
Wrapping a warm towel tightly around my body, I perch on the edge of the bathtub, coils of steam still filling the air. I’ve never been lucky enough to have a bathroom with under-floor heating and a heated towel rack, but now that I’ve experienced the good stuff, there’s no going back.
The sweet smell of warm vanilla sugar reminds me of home as I pull my favorite lotion from the bag of toiletries the boys lifted from my apartment and squeeze some into my hands. My feet have been used and abused in the worst possible way since being here, but this week, they’ve been given a chance to really heal. The deep cuts from running through the woods and scraping across the asphalt haven’t done them any favors, and while they have a long way to go before I can classify them as fully healed, they’re looking and feeling a shitload better than what they were.
A pained groan pulls from deep in my chest as I rub the lotion into my sore feet before slowly moving up my calves and doing everything I can to minimize the look of each of my scars. Some will fade easily, but others will be there until the end of time.
I get halfway through putting lotion on my lower body before the mirror finally becomes clear and I focus on the scars that are harder to hide. Pain tears at my chest with each welt that I focus on, remembering the exact moment I received it.
The fading ridges where Lucas Miller carved his marks are woven haphazardly through the shallow gashes that Levi and Roman left on my skin. The oldest scars mean nothing to me, just silver lines left by an angry man, fueled by power and control. But my stomach spasms in waves of dread and grief as I take in the puckered, red gashes that tell a very different story. That betrayal is something I may never heal from; both mentally or physically.
I’ve spent the better part of my morning training with the boys downstairs, and just like the other day, Levi and Roman yelled orders at me while Marcus stood by, wishing he could be the one to drop me to my ass. Though, he’d also be the one to kiss it better afterward.
With no other plans for the rest of the night, I pull the clip free from my hair and let my long brunette locks fall down my back in soft waves. The towel falls to the ground as I stride from my private bathroom, feeling a million times better than I have in weeks.
The soft silk dressing gown catches my eye and I walk toward it, not wanting the hassle of getting completely dressed at this time in the evening.