Page 56 of Unmask (Crew of Elmwood Public #2)

I turned slowly, taking it all in. The vanity lined with untouched perfume bottles.

The corner chaise stacked with plush blankets.

A walk-in closet full of expensive dresses, most with tags still on them, designer brands, hand-beaded gowns, and lingerie that made my stomach pitch.

It didn’t look like the same space that Kenny had been held, but I couldn’t be sure. Not really.

Not that it mattered. It was a mask. A fantasy. A beautiful lie to convince me I wasn’t in hell, but I knew better.

A silk noose still tightened.

When I spotted the camera mounted discreetly in the corner of the ceiling, I knew this wasn’t comfort. It was control.

I strolled through the space carefully, my fingers shaking as I opened the vanity drawers.

Lipsticks. Hairbrushes. But no hidden weapons unless I planned to kill my kidnapper with a mascara wand.

The closet had shoes in every size. I pulled open one of the drawers, hoping maybe, just maybe, they had been careless.

Inside were stockings. A drawer of jewelry. Diamonds and pearls and gold, probably real, probably worth enough to buy my freedom if that was how this world worked.

But it didn’t.

This wasn’t about value.

It was about ownership.

And that scared me the most.

Not the chains I didn’t see but the fantasy they expected me to accept. And they were watching my every move. The door to my room finally opened, and I saw him.

Fucking Rusty.

He stepped inside, and his presence immediately sucked the oxygen out of the room. He looked so out of place in his oil-stained boots on the shiny tile, echoing far louder than it should have, and yet, he was a king entering his castle.

The bottom of my stomach dropped.

I didn’t know why I expected him to look different. More sinister, maybe. More bloodstained. But he looked the same. Maybe a little grayer at the temples. Maybe his face had softened with the price of living well while the rest of us grieved and survived.

But it was him.

The man who called me kiddo and ruffled my hair.

The man who showed up to family barbecues, who slipped me twenty bucks when my mom wasn’t looking, and taught me how to patch a tire when I was thirteen.

Who had unveiled Donovan’s deception but carefully kept his own hidden.

The man who used to call my dad his brother.

How could he be him and also be someone who heartlessly stole people and sold them as if they were meaningless dolls?

His gaze swept over the room, indifferent. Not even stopping on me. “Nice to see you awake,” he said lightly, like we’d bumped into each other in a grocery store aisle and not in a fucking nightmare of his own making.

My throat burned. “How could you?”

His eyes flicked toward me, quick and impersonal. “It’s not so bad, right?” He gestured vaguely toward the silk sheets, the opulent walls, and the mirrored vanity. “They’ll take care of you here, and soon you’ll be living a life of luxury just like you’re used to.”

I almost laughed. Almost. The sound got stuck somewhere between fury and disbelief.

“How fucking cliché,” I spat. “My father’s best friend killed him.

The one person he trusted the most. Or maybe he didn’t trust you.

Maybe he figured you out too late, uncovered what you were doing behind his back, and instead of owning your shit, you decided to silence him.

You betrayed him. The crew. You sold out the people who would’ve bled for you.

For what? A fatter paycheck? A bigger cut of the fucking pie? ”

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a wince. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” I snapped, taking a step forward, my nails digging into my palms. Not that I would believe a word out of the bastard’s mouth.

He sighed and looked up, toward the corner of the ceiling at the camera.

Watching. Always watching. Then he looked back down at me like I was a child having a tantrum.

“This goes beyond me. It’s much bigger than your dad ever realized.

Bigger than any of us small-town players.

” He spread his hands wide, palms up in a gesture of false helplessness.

“I didn’t build this machine, kiddo. But I’m not stupid enough to stand on the wrong side of it when it comes rolling through. ”

“You’re on the wrong side,” I shot back. “You’re selling girls like livestock. You’re going to sell me .” I didn’t know that for an absolute fact, but every instinct I possessed screamed that it was true.

He didn’t deny it, confirmation in the absence of words. “You don’t belong in Elmwood anymore,” he said finally. “It’s not safe for you. Not anymore.”

“Don’t you dare pretend this has anything to do with my safety.

” The rage building inside me was volcanic, molten, and ready to erupt.

“This is about you and your cowardly ass. About protecting your own worthless skin. It always has been. You don’t give a single shit about me, and you sure as hell didn’t care about my dad when you sold him out. ”

His mask slipped for just a fraction, something ugly surfacing behind his eyes before the practiced neutrality slammed back into place. “I can assure you I took no pleasure in making the tough decisions your father couldn’t.”

The casual dismissal of my father’s character and his death, spoken like it was some unfortunate business transaction, shattered what little control I had left.

“Fuck you!” I hissed and lunged.

My body moved before my brain could catch up, pure instinct and fury driving me forward.

My nails found his face before he could even think to react, digging deep furrows from his temple to his jaw.

Skin tore like paper under my fingertips.

He shouted in shock and pain, stumbling backward as red bloomed beneath his eye, the blood dripping steadily into the starched collar of his white shirt.

“You little bitch!” he growled, one hand flying to his face while the other shot out to steady himself against the wall. His fingers came away slick with crimson. “You’re lucky they still want you pretty, or I’d?—”

But I wasn’t done. Not even close. The taste of his blood in the air only fed the fire burning in my veins.

“You’re going to pay for what you did to Kenny,” I seethed.

“For what you did to my parents. I’ll fucking kill you myself.

” The vow vibrated in my chest like a struck tuning fork, resonating with every beat of my heart.

His hand dove into his jacket pocket, his fingers closing around something that made him straighten with renewed confidence.

I couldn’t see what it was, but the motion was enough to freeze me in place.

Even through the red haze of rage, some primitive survival instinct reminded me I wasn’t invincible.

He straightened slowly. Blood continued to smear across his cheek in abstract patterns. “Calm down,” he snapped, his voice regaining its earlier authority. “Or I’ll have them pump you full of sedatives again. And I’d really hate for you to miss the show.”

The blood in my veins went ice cold. “What show?”

His eyes darted to the camera again, just a blink, barely perceptible, but I caught it.

And I knew.

“Who’s watching me?” I demanded, my voice climbing toward hysteria. “Who the fuck is watching me right now?” Lightning struck somewhere behind my ribs, sending electric panic racing through my nervous system. My breath came fast, instantly evoking terror.

His smile was the answer before he even opened his mouth. “Just a few potential buyers. Turns out you’re worth significantly more to me alive and undamaged than as a corpse.”

“No,” I said, backing up until my spine hit the wall. I shook my head frantically, like I could physically dislodge the horrifying thought taking root in my brain. “No, he’ll kill you for this. When he finds out?—”

Rusty’s smile widened. The expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Who? Your boyfriend? That Corvo psychopath?” He laughed humorlessly. “Kiddo, you’ll be gone before he even knows where to start looking.”

It was my turn to smile. The expression felt foreign on my face, dangerous in a way that surprised even me. “Then I really can’t wait to see the look on your face,” I said, my voice dropping, “right before you fucking die.”

His expression slipped, a shadow of doubt gleaming in his features.

“You’re worse than I thought. He’s really done a number on you.

” The door slammed shut between us with the finality of a coffin lid closing.

Then came the locks, clunking into place one after another in a mechanical symphony of captivity.

One. Two. Three.

I stared at the hairline seam in the door frame, the blood still hot in my veins, rage and terror mixing into something combustible.

Three locks.

Rusty thought that would be enough to keep me contained.

He had no idea who Kreed Corvo was.

And he had absolutely no fucking clue what I was willing to do, what lines I was prepared to cross, to get back to the people I loved.

The camera blinked at me from its corner perch, recording every moment of my captivity for its unseen audience. But let them watch. Let them see exactly what they thought they were buying.

They were about to learn that some cages couldn’t hold what lived inside them.

And just how fucking sharp a raven’s claws could be.