Cruel Saints

She hasn’t moved a muscle, but her glass is empty.

I down the rest of my bourbon, then walk back to her. Taking the tumbler from her hand, I go to refill the glasses.

With my back to Elena, I force the question over my lips, and it comes out sounding harsher than I meant. “Did Capone rape you?”

I pick up the tumblers, and only when I hold the drink out to her does she shake her head as she takes it from me. “No. I was so happy to go to St. Monarch’s because I knew it was only a matter of time before he did.”

Taking a seat again, I slump back against the couch. I begin to twirl the glass between my fingers. “Was that the only time?” I ask, even though I know the answer already.

Slowly, I turn my head, and then I watch as Elena shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t.”

Christ almighty.

It explains everything. I now understand why Elena is so skittish.

My little bird doesn’t have broken wings. They’ve been ripped off.

“I was seventeen,” she whispers, her voice sounding lost. “The past four years have been hell, and I just want to get away from it all.”

God.

Breathe.

Fuck.

“That fucking motherfucker.” I try to focus on my breaths, but instead, images begin to flash through my mind.

Elena on her knees in front of Dante.

A roar rips from my chest, and I get up again. “Fuck.” I begin to pace up and down, trying to get rid of the sudden burst of energy brought on by the rage. “Fuck,” I mutter again, unable to say anything else.

I knew it was bad. I fucking knew it.

Christ.

I come to a stop and close my eyes.

It’s the same as rape.

Four fucking years.

My hands begin to shake, and I quickly down the drink, hoping it will calm me down. I set the empty tumbler down on the coffee table before I throw it.

All I want to do is kill Dante. Right fucking now.

My eyes fly to Elena, and unable to think of anything else to say, I breathe, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

My stomach churns at the thought of what she’s been subjected to.

That fucking depraved bastard.

Her gaze lifts to mine, and the pain I see in them slices right through me. “You’ll kill him?”

Murder echoes in my voice as I promise, “I will.”

Elena nods and sets her empty glass down on the coffee table. She surprises me by letting out a chuckle. “Good, because even after everything he’s done to me, I’m not sure I can do it.” She shakes her head, and there’s no amusement as she lets out another empty chuckle. “It’s either him or me.”

“It will never be you.”

She gets up, and then she meets my gaze. Questions flutter over her face. “It makes me just as bad as you, right? I was shocked when you killed those men, but here I am asking you to kill one more.”

“We’re not bad if we kill bad people. We’re doing the world a favor by getting rid of the scum.”

Elena nods, appearing to be deep in thought. “We’re all bad in someone’s eyes.”

“Not you,” I argue, convinced to my very core she’s the purest of us all.

Elena shakes her head, and then she begins to walk toward the stairs. “To Alfonso, I’m the villain. I should have left him alone, then he’d still be alive.”

I watch her go up the stairs, and then I stare blankly at the spot I last saw her. My thoughts are filled with everything I’ve learned.

Images of her horror flash through me, only increasing my anger until my body shudders, begging for release.

Turning around, I walk to the gym, and leaving the light off, I head straight for the punching bag. With a roar, I slam my fist into the bag, and as it begins to sway, I picture Dante’s face.

I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

I keep punching the bag until my hands start to ache, and taking a step back, my breaths explode over my lips as I focus on the pain.

ELENA

I didn’t sleep at all. I sat on the bed, surrounded by regrets and shame.

I’ve been alternating between wanting to bash my head against the wall for telling Lucian what Dante did to me and thinking I did the right thing.

I’ll probably have to go home, and if Lucian can get rid of Dante, then at least I won’t have the monster waiting for me. Whether I marry Dante or not, if he’s alive, he’ll rape me. I just know it.

For the hundredth time, I think about Lucian’s reaction. He seemed genuinely upset. I could feel his anger vibrating off him.

It just adds to the confusion. I don’t think I’ll ever understand him. On one side, he’s a ruthless killer, and on the other, he seems to care about me. It feels like I’ve been given a puzzle that’s missing half the pieces.