Page 59 of Shades of Ruin (Sharp Edges Duet #2)

Chapter Forty-Three

GREYSON

T obias has been such a natural addition to our family that I find myself trying to remember what it was like before he showed up in my kitchen two weeks ago. Turns out Angélica and I had room for one more piece in the jagged puzzle of life we’ve built together, and Toby is a perfect fit.

For now, we allow ourselves to ignore the impending realities of our tenuous guardianship.

Aurélie still lurks in the shadows. We don’t know whether she’s here or in France or hiding somewhere else entirely.

We don’t know if we’ll ever be able to connect her to the murders—or stop her from killing again.

There’s still so much to work out, but for now, we are all enjoying the moment.

Tobias spends every day at the restaurant.

He loves to be in the kitchen, and he’s fascinated by even the smallest aspects of the culinary process.

There’s no doubt he’ll grow up to be an excellent chef one day.

We may not share blood, but his excitement and ambition remind me exactly of myself when I started in the kitchen.

And I know Angélica sees pieces of herself in him, too.

He’s a perfect pairing of the two of us—her heart and creativity, and my focused determination.

Even though Toby spends his days in the kitchen or my office, nights at the restaurant are too long for a nine-year-old.

Angélica and I alternate the night shifts, one of us taking Toby and the other keeping the kitchen running.

The new schedule has required some adjustments for the staff and is still a work in progress, but it’s manageable until we hire some extra hands.

Angélica and I love our nights with Toby just as much as we love our culinary work, and we both agreed to take off Saturday and Sunday every week to spend time as a family.

And every Friday night, my angel and I have a very late dinner at the apartment so we can still sneak in some time with just the two of us.

I’ve been in an unusually good mood because today happens to be Friday—and I know I’ll get to fuck my angel until she’s screaming as soon as I finish the dinner shift.

I’ve handled Grey’s for the evening after Angélica took Tobias up to the apartment.

They both helped with dinner prep, and Tobias’ chopping skills are already perfect if I do say so myself.

Having kid duty also means it’s Angélica’s turn to cook dinner, and I can’t wait to taste her food for the night right before I lay her out on the dining room table and taste all of her too.

The scent of meat sautéing in butter, wine, and truffle greets me the moment I walk through the door. It’s a strange, sweet aroma that’s a bit off from our usual dinners. Angélica must have been in the mood to experiment and picked up something new from the butcher.

“Angel?” I call, undoing the top two buttons of my black shirt so I can finally breathe. I tear at the buttons on my sleeves and roll them up my arms as I make my way to the bar. “You want a drink?”

I pour myself a double shot of whisky, eager for the warm burn of the liquor filling my belly after a long day. I drink it slowly, savoring the rich, vanilla-tinged notes of oak and caramel. “Angélica?” I call out again, wondering why she isn’t answering.

I grab the bottle of whisky and stride toward the kitchen. She’ll have to be satisfied with my kind of drink tonight. “Am I going to have to chase you tonight, ang?—”

The bottle in my hands falls to the floor, shattering on impact and dousing the room in the heavy scent of liquor.

Aurélie is in my kitchen, my black apron wrapped around her slim waist. There’s red all over the counter, a bloody knife discarded beside a mound of chopped meat. Organs, from the look of it.

A nauseating swell of revulsion overtakes my stomach when I realize the source of the unusual smell wafting through my apartment. Although I’ve never tasted it, I recognize the savory scent of the meat from a decade before. The rich flavor is the ultimate taboo delicacy in the culinary world.

Aurélie is cooking hearts. Human hearts.

“I hope you’re hungry, chéri ,” she greets, a cheery, off-kilter cadence to her voice as she sautés her victims’ organs with a wooden spatula. “Tonight is spécial du chef .”

The thinly sliced pieces of muscle and tissue are searing to a golden brown, drowning in a sauce of butter and fresh herbs.

I ignore the way my stomach rumbles when I catch a whiff of black truffle melding perfectly with the other components of the dish.

That’s not meat in the pan, I remind myself to stave off the hunger that’s been building over the course of a long, stressful day with no breaks for meals. That’s Sophie.

I’m retching instantly, bending at the knees to empty what little is in my stomach onto the marble floors.

My body feels slick with sweat, beads of it trickling down my neck and temples.

I underestimated her. Like a fucking idiot, I underestimated everything that a psychopath like her is capable of.

And I don’t know how much my stupidity has cost me .

Angélica is nowhere to be found. And I need to know how many hearts Aurélie is cooking right now.

I feel the bitch’s goddamn claws on my back, but I don’t have the energy to pull away.

“When did you develop such a weak stomach, Grey?” she tuts.

“ Plat principal cannibale is your concept, remember? You weren’t queasy when my husband’s entrails were winning you the position of sous chef. Why start now?”

“Where is she?” I choke out, my throat thick with bile. I fall to my knees, unable to support my own weight any longer.

“Your pastry whore?” Aurélie circles around, dragging her nails over my body until she’s standing in front of me.

She reaches down and grabs my jaw, digging her fingers into the hollows of my cheeks.

“Is that all you fucking care about?” she hisses, her French accent stronger as her anger takes over.

“Yes,” I gasp. I brace myself for the worst news. Given the things I’ve done in my life, I probably deserve to have every shred of happiness ripped away the moment I finally have it in my grasp. But I still cling to hope because it’s all I have left.

Aurélie steps closer, the smallest hint of a frown creasing between her brows when she looks down to see she’s dipped the tip of her red stiletto into a puddle of my vomit.

“Oh, Grey, you’ve gotten my Louboutins dirty,” she sighs. “And you know how I feel about my shoe collection.” She bends low and brings her lips to my ear. “Lick it clean, and I’ll tell you what happened to your sweet, Colombian pute .”

I gape at her, not sure if I can physically obey the sickening command without hurling all over again.

“I’d be quick if I were you,” Aurélie adds, lifting her leg and slamming her stiletto down on my thigh. “She doesn’t have long.”

Every instinct in my body dims apart from the one ensuring that Angélica makes it out of this alive.

No matter the cost. I don’t even flinch as I lean down and run my tongue over the length of Aurélie’s shoe, lapping away every trace of my own acidic bodily fluids.

I lick until I taste nothing but clean, smooth leather, then I sit back on my heels and wait.

“You’re surprisingly obedient when someone has your balls in a vice,” she remarks, a note of irritation in her voice.

“I’m almost disappointed at how easy this is.

” She drags her stiletto from my thigh and walks away, the sharp tap of her designer heels against the marble floor a familiar sound that I’d long forgotten.

When she returns, she flings something heavy and metal across my thighs. “Put those on. Make sure they’re tight.”

A pair of police-grade handcuffs is sitting in my lap.

Aurélie wants me powerless. She’s making me choose to submit to her.

Given the stakes, it’s an easy choice. I pick up the cuffs and slap one around my wrist, tightening it until it stops clicking and there’s no give between the harsh pinch of metal and my skin.

“Tighter,” Aurélie demands with a sadistic smile.

I squeeze my hand around the cuff, locking it until the metal cuts into my skin.

When she appears satisfied, I attach the other cuff.

The rings of metal are so tight around my wrists that I feel the blood in my hands start to slow.

A small flicker of alarm flashes through my head—if left like this for too long, my fingers will be at risk of necrosis.

Every minute, I’m putting my culinary career at risk.

I let the concern drift away along with every emotion in my body. If my girl isn’t safe, nothing after tonight matters anyway.

“Where is she?” I ask again, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.

“She’s waiting for us at the table,” Aurélie responds in a tone too calm to be comforting. “Can’t have dinner without dessert.”

Gory flashes of the bloody hearts in my kitchen turn my stomach all over again. Resisting the urge to spew, I try to rise to my feet. A searing slice of a knife to my shoulder forces me to keel over, pain lancing my entire arm. The fucking bitch stabbed me.

“ Fuck ,” I gasp while trying to drag myself up, unable to support my full weight with my hands cuffed in front of me. The sharp point of a stiletto slams into my spine and presses hard, forcing my face against the floor.

“I didn’t give you permission to stand,” she hisses, digging her heel harder into my back before moving to my shoulder and stabbing the razor-sharp point of her stiletto into what feels like a goddamn hole in my arm. I have to grit my teeth to keep from groaning with the pain.

“You’ve become such a weak, lovesick bitch, I think it’s only fair that you crawl to the dining room.

” She pushes down with all her weight against my shoulder, and I taste blood in my mouth from biting down so hard on my tongue to keep from screaming.

“Crawl,” she orders with a harsh stomp of her foot.

“I can’t,” I grit through clenched teeth as I try to jerk away from her. “My fucking wrists are cuffed.”

“You’re a smart boy, Grey.” The pointed toe of her heel slams into my ribs and sends my stomach roiling. “You’ll figure it out if you ever want to see your pretty little chef alive.”

Shutting down the rage singing in my blood, I pull up onto my elbows and drag myself across the floor in the direction of the dining room.

Aurélie walks behind me, the incessant click of her heels driving a white-hot blade through my sanity with every step.

Wetness seeps into my shirt on my left side and leaves a trail of red on the floor as I crawl down the hall.

When I reach the dining room, a pair of white Chucks splattered in blood is the first sign of Angélica.

“Angel,” I gasp, scrambling to get to my feet.

Another burning lance of pain to the back of my thigh knocks the breath from my lungs.

Aurélie twists the blade, scraping at every layer of tissue, sinew, and muscle before ripping the knife from my body.

My legs feel warm and wet like I’ve pissed myself, but I know that isn’t what’s running down my thighs right now.

Chances are high that the damn bitch nicked something important this time.

There’s a muffled cry from the other side of the long, obsidian table. Angélica . She’s alive and well enough to sound furious, and that’s motivation to make me forget the pain and fight to stand again. Another stab of the knife pierces my right leg, and I collapse against the floor.

“Let her the fuck go, you goddamn blonde psycho!” I growl, slamming down my fist.

Sharped nails dig into my hair and jerk my head up.

I stare into a pair of periwinkle blue eyes that glimmer with unhinged delight.

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, Grey.

” She yanks harder on my hair, pulling my head up so high that the tendons in my neck are stretched taut.

“You’re only in a position to lay back and take what I fucking give you. ”

“I’m going to fucking kill you. If you hurt her, if you leave one goddamn scratch on her, I’m going to make you suffer more than you can even imagine. I’ve kept my knives sharpened for a decade, and one of them has your fucking name on it.”

“Oh Grey,” she sighs like she pities me. “Your threats are meaningless. You know why?”

She uses her hold on my hair to drag me the rest of the way to the table.

With a strength that I wouldn’t expect from her slight build, she yanks me into a chair at the head of the large table.

Her fingers grab my jaw and force me to see what lies at the end of the table. Not that I could ever look away.

“Because I can tear you apart without even having to touch you. One little nick to Angélica’s lovely carotid artery, and you’d be watching her bleed out. And that would kill you, wouldn’t it?”

Relief and anguish wage war in my heart at the sight before me.

Angélica is tied to a chair at the other end of the table, thick coils of red rope lashed around her upper body and tied around her legs.

Her arms are wrapped around the back of the chair, likely cuffed the same as mine are.

Rope runs between her parted teeth, pulling harshly at the edges of her mouth as it gags her.

Her lips are bloody, and dark bruises are splattered across her high cheekbones.

Red is seeping through Angélica’s white shirt and dripping onto the floor.

It takes my brain a moment to process the cause.

A boning knife is protruding from her abdomen, buried all the way to the hilt.

It’s not an arbitrary injury—it’s the sort of injury you bleed out from as soon as the knife is removed if you don’t have immediate medical care.

Angélica is alive, but she won’t be for much longer. Reality settles into my veins like a winter frost. Tonight might be the end. For both of us.