Reparation of Sin (The Society Trilogy 2)

I spent more than my fair share of time staring at similar walls during my recovery from every excruciating operation when they tried to piece me back together and make me whole again. I swore I would never come back to a hospital. I would never again set foot in one of these rooms. Yet here I am.

I'm not certain how much time has passed since that first day when I woke to the voice beside me, informing me I was in the care of Dr. Rosseau. Since then, I have had incremental improvements in my strength, vision, and muscle control. But it has been difficult to determine to what extent since they have kept me sedated most of the time. I know because every time I attempted to move, I couldn’t, and while my thoughts were screaming loud, I could not give voice to them.

I am certain they suspect I would tear them limb from limb to get out of here, and they would be right.

Slowly, I turn my gaze to the man beside my bed. The familiar face of a friend. A man I trust implicitly.

Lawson Montgomery. Or Judge, as he is better known.

He has been here every day, to some extent. I tried several times to speak to him, but he seemed to understand what it was I needed and took it upon himself to inform me that Ivy and Mercedes are both in his care until I make a full recovery. Which means he captured my wife before she could make her great escape.

I was relieved to hear the news, but that relief swiftly turned to bitterness.

She is a traitor. There is no question in my mind. I am certain of it, and I have had little else to do but replay that moment over and over. That kiss. The kiss of death she so eagerly bestowed upon me.

Poison fucking Ivy.

For days, I have laid here, strapped to a hospital bed like a goddamned lunatic, going out of my mind with alternating rage and frustration. I asked myself how she could possibly do this to me. How I didn't see it coming. And there is only one answer.

She is a Moreno. Regardless of our marriage certificate. Regardless of my mark inked into her skin. She still carries those defective genes that will forever make her a viper. And I am more certain of it now than I have ever been.

My wife will die by my hand. As sure as the sun will rise, I will spit on her grave once I've wrung every last ounce of life from her body. She thinks she has known suffering, but she has never experienced the true depths of my depravity or what I am capable of. And there will be no peace in my soul until I taste her blood on my lips as her life slips away.

She will bear my children. And she will know nothing but misery until her last breath. That is the promise I make to myself in the quiet solitude of my thoughts. It is the only solace that gets me through each passing day, waiting for the time when I can return to her, the devil reborn.

"I know what you're thinking," Judge tells me. "It's written all over your face, Santiago. But I should tell you, we haven't yet been able to find the evidence to condemn her. We've searched the compound. Her purse. Your car. Every inch of every space she encountered that evening, including The Manor. But it's turned up nothing."

I reach out for the water on my bedside table, hand trembling as I bring it to my lips to take a drink. And for the first time in days, I try again to move my lips—to form words—and to my surprise, it actually works. My throat is dry, and it’s uncomfortable, but I forge on, insisting on having my answers.

"No sedative today?"

Judge cocks his head to the side and shrugs. "Not as long as you don't get ahead of yourself again."

"Tell me everything," I rasp. "I need to know."

He studies me for a moment, trying to determine something for himself. "I will tell you as long as you give me your word that you will stay here until you are given the all clear from Dr. Rosseau. I'm getting rather tired of sedating you."

"You have my word." I meet his gaze so there can be no misunderstanding about my intent.

There is no question I want to leave this place, but he is right, and I can see that now. It would only give Ivy more pleasure to allow her to see me in such a state. To allow her for one second to think she had truly hurt me. As if she could ever possess that power.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Judge asks.