Page 13 of Blood and Thorns (Twisted Ever After #1)
Sebastian
My bike rolled to a stop, the night air brisk as I stared up at the flat above the garage. The surrounding street lamps were off, which wasn’t unexpected considering the time. It was late, the heaviness of the night shrouding me in shadows.
The local council tried to save money by turning the lights off after midnight, and then they wondered why the crime rate had skyrocketed. Debauchery and terror thrived beneath the veil that was darkness, but who gave a shit if the government saved a few pennies?
Tugging off my helmet, I placed it on the seat, and despite the area not being the best, I dared anyone to take it.
Not only was the Harley a luxurious matte black, but it also had my emblem engraved on the side.
A rose strangled by thorns. My face may not be recognisable, and not even my mask unless you were in certain circles.
But the rose was usually enough to deter a thief.
And if it didn’t, then I’d just have to introduce myself.
Not bothering with the garage, I headed straight to the side to find the door that must lead to the flat above.
The stairs creaked beneath my weight, even as my heavy boots were silent.
The front door opened with one quick swift kick to the lock, and as soon as I stepped inside a gun was pressed to my side.
Without hesitation I disarmed the assailant, turning the gun back on him.
Morris spluttered, face red and sweaty. “What are you doing here?” he gasped, winded from where I’d hit him. “I thought… I thought my debt was paid.”
Without turning away, I released the cartridge and then removed the bullet from the chamber before tossing it all to the floor. “Your debt’s not paid,” I said, amused with how he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Just transferred.”
“So, she’s still alive?” he asked, finally looking at me.
His attention roamed over my face, hesitating on the scars. I didn’t bother with my mask, because I didn’t expect Morris to still be here. A mistake on my part.
He swallowed. “I thought you’d fuck her and then kill her like all the others.”
I wasn’t surprised by his words, but I was disgusted all the same.
Rumours were fickle things, and this one I let grow because it would only benefit me for people to believe it.
Morris clearly considered it to be true and still hadn’t argued when his only daughter agreed to be put on a silver fucking platter.
I had to clench my fists to stop myself from killing him right then and there.
“If I kill her, you’d have to take her place,” I said simply.
Morris picked at his bottom lip, the skin cracked and bleeding. Bottles of opened beer littered the place, and the stench of rotten food and general uncleanliness was strong.
“Then why are you here?” he asked, his indignation clear from the sharpness in his tone. The kind of edge that came from too much alcohol and too little self-awareness. “If she’s still alive, you don’t need me anymore. You’ve already taken everything. There’s nothing left for you to destroy.”
Morris sounded like a perpetual victim, despite putting himself in this position in the first place. Honestly, I’d have thought he’d have run far away like the coward he was, not hung around until his next fuckup came knocking down his door.
It was almost impressive, the way he managed to twist his own guilt into something pitiful.
I stepped closer, letting the silence press against him before I asked, “Do you even feel guilty?”
“Guilty for what? Arabella made her own bed.” Morris tipped his head back, a weak attempt at bravado, though his eyes couldn’t hold mine for more than a second. “It’s the least she can do after everything she’s done.”
The words hit like a force, not because they were unexpected, but because he meant them. Every syllable was laced with that same smug self-pity he wore like rusted armour.
“And what exactly has she done?”
He scoffed. “Does it matter? She’s yours now.”
I’d expected deflection, and yet my chest still tightened with a raw, burning fury that settled behind my ribs like fire. “Where’s her room?” I asked before I reacted and killed him.
I wasn’t here for any other reason than I couldn’t sleep. Finding out a little more about my new toy was a somewhat productive use of my time.
Morris frowned, gesturing to the stairs.
I paused at the threshold of her bedroom, taking in the sweet, feminine smell and colourful decor.
I couldn’t actually stand up straight, having to duck my head even at the tallest section.
It was clearly a loft conversion, and not a good one at that.
There were gaps in the ceiling, and the floor hadn’t been completely boarded properly.
Her bed was pressed right to the back, the roof so sloped she’d have had to crawl across.
Arabella clearly liked pastels, all the clothes in her clothing rack similar to the pretty blue dress she’d worn earlier.
Nothing like the women in my world. Grabbing a few of her clothes, I threw them on the bed.
I eyed her charger, deciding she wasn’t allowed a phone and making a mental note to ensure she hadn’t snuck another one in.
I paused at the makeshift bookshelves, hundreds of paperbacks lovingly read and displayed as if they were trophies.
The spines blurred together, so grabbing the one fromher nightstand, I added it to the pile before turning toward the last piece of furniture in the room, her desk.
It was well worn, held up awkwardly by a wedged box.
On top were more books, but these were different. There were no words on the front, and I decided they must be journals, or maybe even notebooks. Not that I knew the distinction.
Flicking one open, I stared at the pen marks, brow furrowed as I flipped through the pages until I found one she’d started but hadn’t finished. Pulling off my backpack, I shoved everything inside, zipping it tight before throwing it over my shoulder.