Heathens (Depraved Sinners 2)

He stands, dropping the tweezers onto the table as I feel Levi’s hard gaze resting upon his brother, probably taking pointers on Roman’s technique. I bet these assholes even sit down with each other after their brutal slaughters to go over everything that happened, giving pointers and criticism, working out how to be even more fucked up on their next little outing. It’s probably one of their most treasured bonding moments, something their father can really be proud of.

Roman strides right into me until I can feel my fingers brushing against his warm skin, the dried, splattered blood of his enemies rubbing up against my arm. The need to pull away rocks through me, but with my arms strapped down and my body in the worst kind of agony, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

His skin is soft, but I can feel the strong cords of muscle lingering beneath the surface, muscles that remind me what a man like this can do. I’ve had more than my fair share of dealings with Roman DeAngelis, and I know his capabilities well.

Roman props his hand on the table beside me, the inside of his wrist pressed against my ribs. He does the same with his other hand and slowly leans into me, his face hovering mere inches away from mine.

I swallow hard, fearing what this heathen has in store for me. His lips twist into a wicked smirk and I can all but feel Levi’s stare resting upon his older brother. “Game time,” Roman murmurs, those two words holding more weight than any single word should have the power to.

Tears well in my eyes but I fight them back, refusing to let them fall as I shake my head. “No,” I tell him, my voice breaking out of fear. “I’ve already told you; I didn’t do this. Please, just give me a chance and I’ll tell you exactly what happened.”

Roman laughs. “A chance? Empress, you’ve had more chances than anyone who’s ever been under my protection. Your time for chances is gone. It’s a shame though, Marcus was the one who would have enjoyed this the most, and now he’s gone and he’ll never get to experience the sweet sound of your screams echoing down the long hallways as your life drains away.”

“You’re sick,” I spit, my jaw clenched as anger washes through me, my chest constricting at the harsh reminder of Marcus’ death.

His dark eyes shimmer with laughter and he moves in just a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper as I hold back tears of grief. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

I don’t respond. What’s the point? He has his mind set, and seeing as though Levi isn’t saying a word, I can assume that he’s more than happy to go along with Roman’s bullshit. “I have to be honest,” Roman continues. “You’ve surprised me. I didn’t think you’d last longer here than just a few measly days, but here we are with all this history. It’s a waste. You could have gone far in this world. I know Marcus had high hopes for you. Hell, that fucker would have signed a marriage certificate just to call you his.”

An ache settles into my chest, my heart breaking for the millionth time, unable to believe Marcus is really gone. It was only a few short hours ago that he was buried deep inside me, making me feel truly alive. He fell asleep holding me in his arms, something I never thought possible when it came to a man like Marcus DeAngelis.

Seeing the pain in my eyes, Roman laughs and pushes up, giving me just a little more space, but he doesn’t dare step away from the side of the surgical table. “Why?” I croak out over the sharp lump in my throat. “Why bother saving me? You pulled that glass out of my stomach, you told me to run when your father’s men were closing in. You made sure I was far enough from the car before it exploded. Why would you do that if you were still going to kill me? Why bring me here and put me back together? You should have just let that guy snap my neck. What’s the point in saving me?”

Roman’s face softens and for just a moment, I can picture the sweetest words coming out of his mouth, telling me that he couldn’t bear the thought of losing me too, that seeing me broken and destroyed would have killed whatever good parts were left inside of his black soul, that he couldn’t take away the woman his younger brother fought so hard to protect. But when he leans back down to me and his voice drops to a hushed whisper, a chill sweeps through my body. “The point,” he mutters, that deep tone slicing straight through me like a blade, “is that I can’t enjoy killing you if you’re already dead.”