Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(96)

Preston smirks. “We’ll see about that.”

As he advances, he tilts the iron, aiming for my collarbone. My fingers twitch, the idea of him scarring me like this physically, in such an intimate way, pushing vomit up my throat. I choke it down, jerking back when the heat brushes my skin.

“Wait!” He pauses, narrowing his eyes, and I exhale slowly, looking down at the metal just centimeters away.

Silence fills the air in the house just as much as the shadows, and I realize that it’s entirely possible Jonas won’t find me here.

Even if he does, the odds of breaching the security system and making it to us before Preston has a chance to hurt me more are slim.

I don’t want the mark of the man I love tainted by the one who broke me.

Pinching my eyes shut, I send a silent prayer to God, the universe, whoever’s listening that Jonas can appreciate the dedication I have to this no-longer-fake arrangement.

Especially if I don’t make it out of this alive, which the devious glint in Preston’s gaze tells me is a genuine possibility.

I have no idea when this man went from grade A douchebag to psycho killer, but I don’t really have the luxury of time to think about it, either.

Inhaling, I open my eyes again. Look up. “I can do it.”

“Do what?” He shakes the iron. “You want to put his mark on your body?”

“Yes. I’ll do whatever else you want, just… just let me do this.”

He doesn’t respond for several seconds. My knees are screaming at this point, begging me to get up off the hard ground, but I ignore them. His eyes scan my face, searching for signs of deviance, I assume, but finally he backs off with a hoarse laugh.

“Always knew you were a bit of a freak. If you think this’ll help him sleep at night, have at it.”

Grabbing a pair of bolt cutters from a gardening bag he brought in from the garage, he fits them on the chain linking my cuffs and severs it. Adjusting my top, one of my hands drops into my lap, while he forces the iron into the other.

“Hurry up, before it cools down. I want this to hurt.”

Internally, my eyes roll, and I turn my wrist so the W faces me. My hands tremble so violently, it’s hard to position the shape correctly so it misses bone, and my entire face flushes as the heated metal draws nearer.

Gritting my teeth, I remind myself why I’m doing it.

That I’m taking back my power by not letting Preston inflict more damage.

For Jonas.

The first brush of the scalding iron against my skin yanks a whimper from my lips, and as I press in slowly, nausea bubbles like a cauldron and makes me dizzy.

Raw, searing pain ripples along the length of my collarbone, and the pungent scent of melted flesh floods my nostrils, suffocating me. I hold it there for as long as I can stand it, until my fingers are numb and my vision starts to blur from the sheer magnitude of the pain, and then I drop the iron to the floor.

A choked sound crawls from deep in my being, and I collapse forward with my hands on my knees, gulping down air.

Preston bends, brushing a few strands of hair from my face as he leans in to inspect. “Holy shit,” he breathes, a smile in his voice. “You actually fucking did it. What a crazy bitch—”

Before he can finish the sentence, the hand that had no role in my branding lashes out, striking him across the face once. He falls back on his ass, shocked, and it takes a second for it to set in what just happened.

Somewhere in the house, Daddy’s grandfather clock chimes. Footsteps carry through the halls, though I’m sure no one else is here.

As Preston scrambles back up, my hand whips out again, this time turning so the broken paintbrush wrapped in my palm slices across his cheek.

I’ve never been so happy to keep it tucked inside my dress.

Blood beads in the wound, and he lets out a cry as I jump up, hauling my foot back to drive my heel into his groin.

“Fuck,” he groans, doubling over with his arm over his lap. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

With a grin, I grab the iron and ignore my body’s aches. “You’ll have to catch me first, fucker.”

And then the lights go out.





42





My brothers and I learned the layout of our house as soon as we moved to Aplana. Navigating in the dark was a necessity for the three of us, albeit for different reasons.

It feels strange for me to be tiptoeing around now when the end goal isn’t just to stuff my face with junk food.

This is life or death, and I never would’ve imagined that skill would come in handy, but here we are.

Or, here I am, anyway. Sliding my palms along the walls and using muscle memory to keep me from tripping up.

I don’t know what happened to the power, but I’m not staying still so I can find out, either. I’ve discarded my heels, tucked my paintbrush back into my dress, and hold the iron against my leg as I walk, on high alert.

Preston’s footsteps don’t come for a long time, and even when they do, they echo through the corridors, announcing his presence. Though for some reason, he never leaves the immediate downstairs, occasionally coming over to the main staircase to stand silently, but then he always retreats back to the living room.

Almost as if he’s waiting me out.

Unfortunately for him, I will not be returning downstairs. If I can hide somewhere, I know Jonas will make it to me before anything else can happen.