Page 39 of Irreverent (The Marked Saga #7)

Pacing the living room with my hands balled into fists at my sides, I thought of all the different ways I could make Dominic suffer for withholding this information from me. Information about my father’s murder at the hands of vampires. My real father, that is. Not the Hell-born blood donor who contributed to my DNA.

As desperate as I was to hear what Dominic had to say about him, I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I could step one toe over that line without him snapping my neck like a twig.

There had to be another way to siphon the information from him. Something else I could barter that didn’t include my death at his hands. Halting in the middle of the room, my gaze flew to the liquor cabinet.

Hmm. That might work, but I would need something much more expensive than what was stocked in the cabinets; something much finer and rarer if I was going to be able to tempt Dominic with it. I needed the kind of stuff you wouldn’t keep out in the open. The top shelf stuff.

Kind of like that expensive-looking bottle of whiskey I saw in my uncle Karl’s office a few months ago.

Turning on my heel, I hurried upstairs to see if it was still there. Throwing open the door, I peered around the office frantically, noting a slew of cobwebs and dust before settling on the bottle of what turned out to be Macallan M Imperiale. It sat in a luxurious display case in the corner of my uncle’s office, just begging for me to break it out. To use it in the worst way possible. I had no idea how much the bottle had cost my uncle but judging by the way he showcased it like a piece of art, I imagined it was a lot.

With the bottle in one hand and two crystal glasses in the other, I returned to the basement with the hope of selling Dominic on my brand-new deal.

“Back so soon?”

he asked like he knew I would be, and then zeroed in on the bottle in my left hand. “Well, color me impressed. Is that a bottle of Macallan?”

If I could’ve high fived myself, I would’ve.

“What do you say we make a new deal?”

I offered and then shook the bottle from side to side, letting the golden liquid catch his eye. “You tell me what you know about my father, and I give you some of my blood—the no-contact way—and as much of this fine whiskey as your little heart desires.”

He licked his bottom lip as he ran his lean fingers along his jawline, thinking about it.

“I bet you haven’t had a glass of whiskey like this in a long time.”

“Amongst other things,”

he said lasciviously as his gaze wandered over my body as though it had no intention of ever looking away.

My mind sank deep into the gutter, reliving all sorts of inappropriate things, before I quickly reined it back in and then squared my shoulders. “What do you say?”

“I say you have yourself a deal.”

Biting down on my lip, I poured us both a glass and then settled the bottle on the dividing line of duct tape before sliding his glass over to him. He caught it easily, raising the glass to his nose as he swiveled the amber liquid around in the glass, breathing it in with a look of appreciation on his face. Even with the massive chains cinched around his limbs, he still somehow managed to look effortlessly debonair. Regal even.

I, on the other hand, was definitely not that. Skipping the theatrics altogether, I brought the glass to my mouth and tossed half the whiskey down my throat, wincing as it blazed a trail of fire all the way down to my stomach. The knot in my gut loosened only minutely, but it was enough to trudge forward.

“Who sent the Revenants after my father?”

I asked, watching as he slowly brought the glass to his lips and tasted the liquid gold. There was something entirely mesmerizing about the way he savored his drink. It reminded me of the way he used to savor me. My blood. My body…

“The Order sanctioned it,”

he answered evenly, his eyes still on the glass in his hand as he swirled the liquid around, and around, and around, as though his words hadn’t just sent the sky tumbling down onto me. “But it was your uncle who orchestrated the whole thing.” His gaze flicked up to mine as all the air rushed out of my lungs at once.

Uncle Karl? How? Why?

“I don’t understand,”

I said breathlessly. “Why would my uncle do that to my father? To his own brother?”

He took another sip of his whiskey, a long one this time, and then cocked his head to the side, studying me. “It was the only way they could gain access to you,”

he supplied.

Because my father had kept me hidden from the Order—protected me and my Morningstar blood from ever falling into their hands. And they had him killed because of it…because of me.

Tightening my hold on the glass, I brought it back to my mouth and polished off the rest of it, desperately needing to numb the aching firestorm in my chest. I picked up the bottle with my trembling hand and poured myself another one.

My focus careened back to the dark angel. “How do you know all this?”

“It’s a widely known fact amongst my kind,”

he said, watching me as I threw back another double shot of whiskey. “Quite a scandal really.”

I winced at that last part, though I wasn’t sure why that bothered me so much. “If it’s so widely known, why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

He straightened his legs, crossing them at his ankles. “I didn’t know sooner.”

“So, this is a new development—meaning the Headless Bitch told you.”

“If you’re referring to my recently deceased sire, then yes, that’s correct,”

he answered without a hint of emotion.

Who else had known about this? About the Order sending their sworn enemy to off one of their own? Not only had they took the one person that mattered to me most, but they’d made our entire family a laughingstock of the underworld.

I suddenly felt suffocated by my blouse and necktie, like they were conspiring together to strangle the life out of me. Grabbing the knot, I tugged down to give myself some breathing room.

Dominic’s eyes followed my hand movement as he took another appreciative sip of his whiskey.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

I asked, even though I knew in my heart of hearts that he was. It made too much sense—fit too perfectly into a puzzle that had been missing pieces since the very beginning. My arrival in Hollow Hills had been orchestrated by the Order since day one.

Everything from that moment on had been a lie. I couldn’t help but wonder what else they had hiding up their sleeves, or worse, how much they knew about my family’s real deep, dark secret?

“I have no reason to lie to you. Besides, I am a lot of things, but I have never been a liar.”

That was true, I thought as I grabbed at the tie again. No matter how much I loosened it, I couldn’t escape the feeling of being chocked. Having had enough, I ripped the tie off from around my neck and launched it clear across the cell.

“Everything alright?”

asked Dominic, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Like you give a shit,”

I muttered and then topped up my glass again, spilling about a quarter of the whiskey onto the concrete floor in the process.

He took another abstentious sip from his drink as he watched me greedily throw my own back, finally reaching the desired level of numbness required to subdue the burning ache for revenge. To calm the smoldering desire to storm into Temple right this moment and paint the walls red with their blood.

But I knew I couldn’t do that. I needed to be smart about this. For one, I wasn’t yet sure exactly who had been complicit in the cold-blooded execution of my father nor was I sure just how high up the ladder this had gone. And two, as much as it pained me to admit it, I still needed them. I needed them to help me find a cure for Trace. To bring him back from whatever mental hell dimension he was stuck in.

No. I wasn’t going to do anything brash. Not this time.

I was going to bide my time and wait for the perfect moment to exact my revenge on them. To avenge my father’s death, once and for all.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

he asked, pulling me back to the here and now.

I met his eyes and faltered. It was probably the bomb-ass whiskey coursing through my veins, but something about the way his brows creased made me think he was genuinely curious.

Maybe even…concerned?

The fiery revenge broiling under my skin subsided a little as I busied myself running through all the different reasons that wasn’t possible. It was definitely the whiskey making me see things. Dominic didn’t care about me. Not with his emotions shut off and his demon reigning supremely.

“What does it feel like?”

I asked instead, my gaze taking in the tempting curve of his lips; the shadow that danced behind his eyes; the laid-back way he sat against the concrete wall with his legs kicked out in front of him, as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

As though he wasn’t being held prisoner against his will.

“What does what feel like, angel?”

“You know…not feeling. Having your emotions turned off.”

“It feels…”

He hesitated for a moment, tilting his head to the side as though he needed to think on it. “Spacious.”

I furrowed my brows, finding that an odd description. “Do you mean empty?”

“That word has such a negative connotation. I don’t feel as though I am lacking. Only that I am unoccupied with the things that weigh us down.”

“Things like love and compassion and giving a shit about other people?”

“Precisely.”

“Is it freeing…to not care about anything?”

I asked, wondering what that might feel like. I imagined in some ways it must have felt liberating to not have to be bogged down the hundreds of emotions that circle through us each and every day. Guilt. Fear. Sadness. Worry. Pain…

“I have no complaints.”

He flashed his lopsided grin and took another swig of his drink.

“Don’t you miss the other things, though?”

I wasn’t sure why I was asking him these things. The whiskey was making me feel chatty as hell and I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

He quirked his brow at me. “The other things?”

“Yeah, like feeling happy, excitement, love, lust, joy.”

While I could certainly see the benefit of not ever having to feel any negative emotions, I imagined living without the good ones to be a certain kind of hell.

He took another careful sip of his whiskey, slowly making his way to the bottom of the glass. “I can assure that lust is not an emotion,”

he pointed out, ignoring the rest of my list. “Certainly not one that I’m lacking.”

“If it’s not an emotion then what is it?”

His eyes darkened into something feral. “A need. A psychological force—an intense, all-consuming craving for the object of your desire. It has nothing to do with emotion.”

My stomach tightened at the velvety sound of his voice. At the way his eyes were combing over me as though I were that object. “I see,”

I said and then cleared my throat. “I guess you learn something new every day.”

He set his glass on the floor beside himself and then raised his chin to the bottle. “May I?”

It took every bit of strength I had to wrench my gaze away from him. Grasping the bottle, I pushed it forward over the line of duct tape and then looked back at him, feeding my hungry eyes with the sights they so desperately wanted. He scooted forward and poured himself another glass before returning the bottle to the same spot it had landed in.

“So, you don’t feel anything, but you still have basic human needs.”

I chewed on my bottom lip as another curiosity came to me. “Do you still feel attraction?”

A knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Are you asking if I’m still attracted to you?”

I supposed that I was, though I didn’t have nearly enough booze in my body to admit that. Instead, I reached forward for the bottle of whiskey, completely omitting the number one rule:

Never cross the fucking line.

But I did. And like a viper, Dominic struck.