Page 72 of Scarred in Silence

That’s the kicker—he is alive, but I don’t know how. He was shot. They held a closed-casket funeral, and the devastation was widespread.

I am waiting for the right time to tell Lucien. It will destroy him to know his brother is alive, working with rival groups. He always said he didn’t like his brother, but I saw the way the guilt ate at him.

He felt so bad that he couldn’t save him. He felt so much guilt for how he had treated him that he didn’t even show up to his funeral. And now, the guilt consumes him for orchestrating a bunch of bullshit to Astra.

When will he fucking learn?

I pull out my phone and call Silas. We need to have a meeting.

“Silas,” he answers.

“Hey, you free later?”

“Sure thing, what’s up?”

“Just have some things I need to look at.”

“Sure, anything,” his casual voice has my instincts on high alert.

“Be there at three,” I say.

“Sounds good. Later.”

I end the call. He has another thing coming for him. He hasno idea what kind of fucking interrogation he is getting. Or maybe he does. Either way, the only way out is death if he had anything to do with my sister’s eventual death.

29

Lucien

The music hits me first—low, bass-heavy, a tune of impending doom. Club Muse smells like expensive perfume, sweat, cocaine, and sin—same as I remember it always being.

I shouldn’t be here. Not when she’s at home, wallowing in sadness, but Dante insisted we shake Silas down tonight. “Strike while the iron’s hot,” he said.

He told Silas three, but he wanted the element of surprise. He wanted Silas to think he blew him off or something.

We glide past the bouncers. They know Dante. Everyone does. Doesn’t matter that his name isn’t on the building—his reputation is carved into the bones of this place. The bartender flinches when he sees Dante, like he expects a bullet instead of a drink order. Smart man.

“Where’s Silas?” Dante shouts over the music.

The bartender nods towards the stairs.

Dante angles toward the member’s only staircase, silent as frost. I follow, suit jacket brushing my thighs, hands empty—for now. Tonight I’m the leash; Dante’s the blade.

We climb the stairs, passing a girl in crimson latex who blowsme a kiss she’ll never fucking get, and we reach the private suites. We walk past several doors before reaching the black door. Gold trim. A guard outside the door, holding a gun, gives us the sign that Silas is inside the Sin Suite.

Each of the rooms has a theme. They are: the voyeur room, the velvet noose, the red throne, the abyss, the inferno, the gilded cage, and pain and pleasure. Lastly, there is the Sin Suite.

Dante nods at me. I step forward.

“Badge,” I bark.

The guard blinks. “What badge?”

Wrong answer. My right fist cracks his jaw. He’s asleep before he hits the carpet. Dante catches the gun midair, checks the mag, clears the chamber, and tosses it to the sofa.

“Subtlety,” he mutters.

“Later.” My knuckles bleed. It feels righteous.