Page 91 of Blood and Thorns

“I need you to find this.” Sebastian pulled out a photograph from his breast pocket, the older woman in it beautiful.

He pointed to the brooch on her chest, a white crystal rose that looked like it cost more than my entire life. Which amusingly wasn’t true, considering I sold myself for double what Sebastian was paying for the brooch. Clearly, I knew my worth.

Ryder studied the photograph. “By find, I assume you mean steal?” Sebastian remained silent, and Ryder smirked at me. “Is your boyfriend always this intense?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered honestly, and Sebastian curled a hand around the back of my neck in a loose grip. He squeezed a little, and I understood the silent‘behave.’

“Speak to her again, and I’ll cut out your tongue,” Sebastian warned, and Ryder laughed, throwing his head back.

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” He studied the photograph once more. “When do you need it by?”

“As soon as possible.”

A single nod, his teasing expression turning serious. “Give me everything you have on the owner, and I’ll get it to you within the week.”

Chapter 40

Sebastian

The brooch had been one of my mother’s, a gift on her wedding anniversary.

That was what had made me almost lose control, my mind giving into the darkness that I had to purge regularly if I didn’t want to lose myself entirely. Not Margot’s face, but the fucking brooch that I went with my father to choose only a month or so before my life turned to ash.

Ryder was a prick, but he was known for his skills. Luckily, I didn’t have to retaliate because he didn’t speak directly to Arabella again, but I forced myself not to react when he shot her a wink as he stood to leave. Which was fine, because I’d just wait for him to finish the job, then carve out his fucking eyeball.

“Speak to her again, and I’ll cut out your tongue,”Arabella mocked, making her tone deeper. “Honestly, you’re like a barbarian.” She turned on her stool to smirk up at me, those golden brown eyes dancing with amusement.

I leaned down to whisper my next words, my hand curving around the side of her throat to feel her pulse. “Belle, if I was a barbarian, I would’ve sat you on this bar and eaten out your pretty cunt in front of everyone.”

She sucked in a breath, her pulse rapid against my palm. She wore my collar, as well as my bruises. Her lips were no longer swollen, and I wanted to bite them so everyone could see who she belonged to. As if the collar just wasn’t enough.

But I didn’t, if only because of our audience. No one deserved to see how Arabella reacted so viscerally to me. She liked to fight it, and when she did, her submission was that much sweeter.

“I would spread your legs, use my tongue and fingers to make you scream my name just so every man here knew you belonged to me. Want to know why I don’t?” I brushed my lips on the opposite side of her throat. “Because I don’t share.”

She swallowed, and I reluctantly released her. “Noted,” she muttered, a flush darkening her cheekbones, and I knew she was currently imagining me doing just that. It was tempting to get the privacy of a side room, but it was true I didn’t share. She may not be in the view of the patrons, but they’d hear her cries, and that just wasn’t acceptable.

Maybe I could make her come on my face just like I’d promised, and then simply kill everyone who’d overheard? Tempting.

“Are you okay?” she asked, warily watching me as I imagined her spread out before me like a feast.

Her hair had been pulled into a high ponytail, with only a few strands framing her makeup-free face. She was beautiful, made more so by the choker, as well as my teeth marks along her delicate throat. She didn’t seem to care for my grip on her neck, at ease with my hand there.

“Was that her?” she continued. “The woman in the photograph?”

I could feel eyes along my back, prickling with awareness. I’d never stepped foot in the Fluffy Duckling, a somewhat amusing front for the Russian Bratva within London.Many of the patrons were members of various criminal organisations and firms, dangerous men and women who knew not to approach without risking a territorial war.

“Margot Laurent,” I answered, keeping my voice low. “My father’s mistress.”

Arabella tipped her head back to better meet my gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You didn’t ask him to fuck her.”

“For what she did. Nobody deserved that.”

My thumb reached up to brush along her bottom lip. Arabella knew nothing of what had happened, and yet her words were achingly sincere. People like her would be eaten alive in my world.

“You can’t choose your family,” she added, her eyes holding mine with utmost sincerity. “I would know.”