Page 63 of The Collector

The Collector's gaze didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened. "He's not innocent in this," he said. "And when the Kings fall, he'll fall with them. Because you made it so."

The fire hissed behind him, casting flickering shadows across her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Not this time.

"And now that I have my pound of flesh from you, mother," he said, waving the skin he'd so painstakingly tattooed a female demon on, in her face.

"Why don't you die?" He raised the needle to her carotid artery and injected her with poison that would only take moments to kill her. He didn't need to watch; there was no coming back from the darkness that was already beginning to take her down.

The Collector walked away, the firelight flickering behind him like the last breath of a dying star. His mother lay crumpled in apool of blood and regret, her final confession still echoing in the room like a curse.

He had everything he came for—information and her skin.

Hers was the first tattoo he ever collected: Lilith. A horned demoness wreathed in hellfire, etched into flesh with ritual precision.

The Collector watched the elegantly dressed woman in the backseat, tears streaming down her cheeks, and felt little empathy for her shattered heart.

"Where are you taking me?" Her delicate voice quivered, the shock of her current situation still shrouding her in sadness.

Her voice was soft yet empty—like glass that had already shattered. The Collector didn't react to her words or offer comfort. Emotion had long since become irrelevant to him and to what he had to do. All that mattered now was outcomes. Outwardly, he needed to make Elanah feel as if he cared—make her believe he saw her pain and wanted to ease it.

He didn't waver at her question but looked at her callously, considering the path ahead. He reminded himself that each moment spent dealing with her brought him closer to the freedom he had long sought. She was merely a means to an end, a tool he could use to get there faster.

"You almost had everything, didn't you?" he asked as he turned onto the dark highway. "But I guess the only question now is: are you going to accept that you can't have Raven, or are you ready to take down the thing that broke us both?"

She swallowed hard, blinking to anchor herself in the present. Her dress still carried the scent of expensive perfume, but her silence bore the weight of exile.

"Mynx?"

"No," he replied, his voice steady but sharp. "The cartel. The dynasty. The Kings. Call it whatever you want—it all amounts to the same thing."

He glanced into her eyes, which were dark with clarity.

"Do you really think it was Raven who didn't want you? Or was it his father—and the rules he built, the legacy he forced Raven to carry? You think rejection came from the boy, but it came from the system that shaped him. That broke us both."

"It doesn't matter what I want anymore. I have no place left to go; my family has disowned me," she said. "Securing a future at Blood Lust was my last hope for happiness in life. And I just lost it all."

She paused for a moment, looking out the window, considering. "Do you really think we can take the Kings down? You have power, but I am just a problem they swept out the back door. I'm not sure what I can do to help."

He studied her carefully, weighing his words before speaking. "There you go again, focusing on the wrong things. Let me help you. You have a place to go; you can become my partner. Help me take down the Kings, and in return, I can give you everything you want: Raven's love, money, security, and most of all, respect." He watched to see if his manipulation was enough to reel her in.

"I love him, you know. I truly crave the man. He's what I want. Can you promise me that I will have him?"

"If that's what you want, then yes, I can give you Raven. But if you want him, you will have to do what I ask of you—no questions asked. Can you do that?"

"Do you really think he will want me when it's all over?"

"I do. I think Raven will crave you more than the air he breathes because you'll be the only person left for him to hold onto."

Elanah didn't look at him when she spoke. "I've never believed in miracles. Or saints. Not in the world I come from." She paused; her eyes fixed on the skyline outside the car. "There was a time I thought Raven might be a saint—after everything he did for everyone at the club. He gave them shelter, comfort, and protection. That felt divine while it lasted—"

The Collector said nothing, waiting for her to work out her own reasons for agreeing to help him.

"But saints don't survive places like Blood Lust," she said, her voice steady now, stripped of illusion. "The Kings and everything they stand for—it's all designed to turn people into monsters."

Finally, she turned to him, her eyes no longer pleading but resolute. "I believe in those monsters now. In what they endure and in what they become. Maybe monsters make better allies than saints."

The Collector didn't smile, but something shifted in his posture—perhaps approval or recognition. She didn't break. She transformed. And in this war, transformation was the only thing that would keep her alive.

He studied her for a moment. No judgment. No denial. Just truth shared between two broken edges of the same mold.