Perfect Monster (The Oligarchs)

Nothing happened.

He jammed the button again and again, until there was a loud beep.

“God damn it.” He stalked over to a control panel, tapped the screen, and pulled up several camera feeds.

Each one showed the same thing: water.

Standing water everywhere.

“He flooded it,” I whispered. The damp concrete outside suddenly made a lot more sense.

“That fucking bastard.” Roman slammed his fist against the controls, cracking the glass. “He’s going to die for this. It’s going to rip the Oligarchy apart, but damn him, he has to die.”

I put my hands on his arm. “We should go. Are there still people inside?”

“There are other ways out, emergency stairways. I’ll have Erick make sure the staff’s accounted for.”

“Then let’s get out of here.” The whole place was a graveyard, a pit of death and destruction.

But Roman didn’t move. “His room.” He said the words so quietly, and it broke my heart.

His brother’s room. Little Ant.

Down there, drowned.

God, what a nightmare.

“I’m so sorry, Roman. I don’t know what we can do right now.”

He stood staring at the broken screen. He didn’t talk for a long time, and his face was blank, like he’d lost the ability to think or move. It terrified me, like he was suddenly empty, until he pulled back and took a shuddering breath.

Like he broke up onto the surface again.

“I’ll rebuild it,” he said, meeting my eyes with such an intense stare that I felt my knees shake. “All of it, I’ll rebuild. And then I’ll kill Darren for this.”

“I know you will.”

“But first, we have to get married.” He grabbed my wrist and held it tight. “None of this matters if we don’t go through with the wedding. I will finish Oisin, and you will be my bride.”

“I know I will.”

He kissed me, pulling me against him, wrapping his arms around my body. The kiss was pain and pleasure, his teeth and lips pressed tight into mine, his soft tongue rolling around, and I moaned like he bent me over and spanked me, unable to help myself.

Roman was suffering. I could taste it on him, the anguish, the rage. And there was nothing I could do but give myself to him.

And so I would.

All of me, everything I had. I would be his.

I’d take this risk for him and when it was all over, I wouldn’t walk away, because I needed him as much as he needed me.

My scar, the incident—it all paled and blurred when he was around.

I didn’t feel broken, cut apart, shattered.

I hadn’t thought about that night since I told Roman all about it.

Even when my dad did his whole bullshit apology—

It hadn’t ruined me.

I was whole. I was a person again.

Because of Roman.

And I wanted to give that gift to him if I could.

“Let’s get out of here.” I tugged on his hand and he followed. We walked back down the steps together, the building smoldering behind us. Erick paced nervously next to the SUV.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, eyes darting around.

“Make sure everyone’s evacuated from down below,” Roman said. “Get more muscle to replace what’s lost. But first, drive me to the airport. We have a wedding in Atlanta in two days and I want to be prepared.”

Erick nodded and climbed behind the wheel.

Roman kissed my neck then followed him.

I allowed myself one more look at the corpses littering the ground like fallen leaves.

This was the world I stepped into.

The world that made me feel like a human again.

I didn’t know what that said about me—and didn’t care.

I got into the back and Erick drove off.

35

Cassie

Roza flitted around the room like a fairy on speed. “You look perfect,” she cooed and tugged at my dress. “Oh, my god Cassie. I wasn’t sure about you, but yes, you’re incredible.”

“Thanks, I think?” I frowned as she adjusted my veil, then tried to fluff up my boobs. I swatted her hands away. “It’s fine, stop fussing.”

“Fine? Fine?” She glared at me. “This is your wedding day, girly. You’d better be into more than fine.”

I sighed and looked at myself in the floor-length mirror. It was vintage, like everything else in the room—vintage dresser, vintage bed, ancient rugs and ancient wall art.

Roman chose the venue. We were on the outskirts of Atlanta in an old refurbished hotel from the 20s. It was converted into an events space with some of the rooms reserved for guests. The building was gorgeous: white-washed stone with vines growing up one side, the place dripping with southern decadence and beauty. Silver railings, bronze doorknobs, intricate tile work on the floors and hardwood that must’ve been straight off the Mayflower.

And none of it mattered to me. I had no say in any of the details—Roza took care of all that. Even the flowers were her choice, although I had to admit, they were very pretty, a mix of wild and domesticated, understated but still colorful and charming. Roza had amazing taste, and I was lucky that she put this all together.