These Monstrous Ties: New Adult Dark Romance (Unsainted Book 1)
Page 25
It’s the Rain mansion, coming down in flames.
But it’s something else, too.
It’s a warning.
Epilogue
Jeremiah
Present
There’s so much blood in the bathtub, I don’t understand how I’m still alive. It’s turned the water a bright red, and even though I can’t sit up, even though my head leans against the cool tiles at my back, I’m still here.
I’m still breathing.
I shouldn’t be.
I should have died that night I found her.
When I tried to stand a few minutes ago, the world spun around me. The hotel room shifted, what little blood I had draining too fast from my head.
I had had to sit back down, but I can’t reach for the razor. I’d thrown it over the side after carving up my arms.
My phone is somewhere in the Raven River, and no one will come to me, even if I call them.
My heart breaks for her. Even now, as I take in what I wish are my last breaths, I think of her. I want to hold her. To beg for her forgiveness. I would have crawled through glass for it. I would have swallowed glass for it. I would do anything for her to forgive me. To look at me with that little bit of love that had been growing since I found her that night.
That night that I should have died.
That night that vengeance made me into a monster.
But who the fuck am I kidding?
Jeremiah Rain has always been a monster.
I was five when my mom took her in. She was a toddler, long brown hair, strange grey eyes. I’d adored her, even then. How my mother was able to foster children when she couldn’t even take care of me, her own, was beyond me. I knew even then I’d be the one to raise Sid.
And I did.
For three years, I watched out for her. Until the authorities finally came to their senses, and then, since we weren’t blood related, we were ripped apart. I would have burned through the world to find her.
I did.
I just didn’t know I’d burned through her, too.
It never mattered to me that she wasn’t really my sister. Because she was. She still is, even after what I’ve put her through. Even after she chose him over me. Them over me. A holier-than-thou fucked up cult that I never really belonged to. I’d never been close to the Unsaints. They’d barely tolerated my presence. They’d only been intrigued by my story.
But she’s still my little sister.
And if I’m not going to die in this tub—and I’m not so sure the exhaustion weighing on my eyelids isn’t death knocking—then I’m going to protect her, whether she likes it or not. Whether she knows it or not.
The Unsaints are vile. Dangerous. Dark. She has no fucking idea. She thinks the bodies I forced her to see were the worst of her nightmares?
The Unsaints will scar her.
I close my eyes, content to slide into oblivion.
In the morning, I’ll be in hell.
Or I’ll find her again.
Lucifer isn’t the only one who knows how to burn for her.
Afterword
Unsainted will continue with part two of Sid and Lucifer’s story. You can add Pray for Scars to your tbr on Goodreads.
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Turn the page for a sneak peek at Pray for Scars.
Pray for Scars Sneak Peek
They say that Lucifer was a fallen angel, cast out from a heaven too pure for his brand of evil.
But they were wrong.
Lucifer was a god, biding his time until he found his own kingdom in hell.
When Sid Rain gets on the wrong side of the Unsaints, she finds out just how deep their ties run, and just how dark their sins are.
She finds out, too, that Lucifer is not at all who she thought he was.
He’s worse.
While she searches through the history of Alexandria and the twisted connection to her brother, she discovers not all secrets are meant to be shared, and sometimes, running away is far less brutal than fighting back.
Pray for Scars
Sid
I find Ria, and it’s not at all where I expect to find her. It’s not even while I’m looking for her. Which I’ve been doing in the two weeks since Halloween. My schedule has looked something like this:
Class at AU (well, technically, today is the first day that’s happened…)
Change hotels
Look over my shoulder
Stalk Ria leads on social media
Check out obituaries (spoiler alert: Kristof is dead. He was ran over. No charges were filed because multiple witnesses saw him dart in front of a black Mercedes)
I had come to the conclusion Ria just doesn’t do social media by the time I sink down into my non-degree local history class. I can’t get into a degree program because I don’t have a diploma. But I paid for non-degree programs because with the amount of cash I took out of Jeremiah’s—my—bank account, I can do that.
The supply is dwindling already. There was only so much I could withdraw in a day, and I know either my brother or Lucifer and his gang of pricks will track my withdrawals.
But I’m not hiding. Not really.
Still, I don’t want to be completely stupid.
I pull out my notebook and a pen, and lean back in my seat on the last row. There’s a bunch of senior citizens in here and a few kids my age, probably two dozen of us in total. The professor walks in, clad in tweed and a damn bow tie, and then Ria trails in after him.
I sit up straighter, heart slamming in my chest. What the hell is she doing here? I mean, I get why she’s actually at Alexandria University because she was a university student when I met her a year ago. A junior, I think she said. But it looks like now she’s about to teach this class. She has a folder in hand, she’s wearing black dress pants and a white collared shirt and she fiddles with a lock of her long, curly hair. Her and Professor Tweed exchange a few murmured words and then she turns to face the class. There’s a few dozen of us in here, but immediately, her eyes lock on me.
For a second, I think maybe she doesn’t recognize me. But then her deep brown skin flushes pink and she clears her throat. I feel a wave of secondhand embarrassment for her and also a little elated because obviously I’m going to corner her after class.
I never did get on that train.
I haven’t been sleeping well since Halloween—hell, I’ve never slept well, but it’s only gotten worse—and my brother’s words keep haunting me: Find Ria. Find out everything you can.
Part of me thinks Jeremiah might be dead. Part of me doesn’t care. But a small part of me...well, a small part of me does. It’s hard to go anywhere in Alexandria without hearing about the private hotel that burned to the ground, and I can’t help wondering what my brother thinks about that.
I tear my eyes away from Ria, and Professor Tweed prods her with a harsh, wet cough. Gross.
As this is a non-degree course, when I decided to enroll, I’d only missed the first day, on Monday. Today is Wednesday and no one seems too comfortable with each other yet so it’s safe to say I haven’t missed much.
Another wet cough from Tweed and I know I haven’t missed much, and I’m already regretting this decision, although I’m glad I’ve got Ria in sight.
“Today,” she begins, her voice sounding crackly. She clears her throat, and Professor Tweed furrows his brow but sinks into a seat on the front row, watching her. How stressful. “Today,” she begins again, peeling her eyes away from me and staring at the back wall of the classroom, “we’re going to…” She trails off and Tweed leans over the desk. I can’t see his face anymore, but I’m sure he’s annoyed.
I blow my bangs out of my face and Ria catches the movement. I smile at her. She doesn’t return it, but she nods, as if to give herself strength, and starts one more time. She walks around the podium, tapping the folders she set there, looking thoughtful as she chews on her lip.
“I had planned a l
esson on the early settlers here, and the Native American tribes they displaced, but,” she shrugs, “instead, we’ll fast forward a little.” She glances at Tweed as if waiting for permission, but the class seems eager, so she plows ahead. “Today, we’ll talk about the famous families of Alexandria that are still around now.” She stares at me as she says those last words.
I had signed up for this course specifically to get information on Alexandria. A college town in the piedmont region of North Carolina, there are clearly secrets here I don’t get. Things at work involving the Unsaints and the Society of 6 that could very well concern me, and, you know, staying alive.
But I didn’t expect Ria and this lecture to just fall into my lap like this. Is she doing this for me? I pick up my pen, ready for her next words.
She clasps her hands behind her back and slowly starts to pace at the front of the room, surveying all of us.
“How many of you know of the Malikov family?” she asks, nothing but mild curiosity in her voice.
I, however, tense, gripping the pen in my hand a little tighter.
Hands all over the room shoot up. An elderly woman shakes her head and chuckles before saying, “I think the better question is who hasn’t heard of them?” she asks good-naturedly.
Ria eyes me. I don’t raise my own hand. I have, technically, heard of them. Two weeks ago, actually, when one of the Unsaints, Mayhem, informed me it was Lucifer’s last name.
Lucifer Malikov.
A perfect name for a boy who, right underneath my brother, is the cause of most of my more frequent nightmares.
Ria nods at the woman who spoke up and everyone puts their hands down. She continues pacing, slowly, confidently. I assume she’s in here teaching this class because she wants to be a teacher. I realize I never asked her much about herself on Unsaints Night one year ago.
But I cut myself some slack. That was the night I was going to kill myself. The nights afterward didn’t get too much better and I didn’t get any nicer or less self-absorbed, but still. I get a free pass for that night.
Ria stops pacing and stands just off to the side of the podium, hands still clasped behind her back. Professor Tweed is now drumming his hands on the table in front of him. Loudly. Maybe he’s not too into the Malikovs. If a fraction of what I know about them is true, I’m not either.
But I need to know.
“The Malikovs are one of the oldest families in Alexandria. They immigrated from Russia, taking their wealth with them. Their wealth,” Ria pauses and glances at me, as if she wants to be sure I’m listening, “and their organized crime. Bratva,” she says, surveying the class again. She smiles. “Now, they turned away from their life of crime and found success in legitimate businesses.” She holds up her hand, ticking some of these so-called businesses off on her fingers. “Banking, security, vodka,” the class laughs at this, “and weapons manufacturing for the private sector.”
No surprises there. Tweed has stopped drumming his fingers.
“Our very own science building,” she gestures vaguely to the windows on the side of the room, “is named after the Malikovs, thanks to a generous donation from Lazar Malikov.” She smiles again, looking toward me. “Father of one of our alumni, Lucifer Malikov.”
Professor Tweed clears his throat. Ria doesn’t look away from me. A few people whisper among themselves at Lucifer’s name, but I don’t catch what they’re saying.
“Lucifer graduated summa cum laude from Alexandria’s business school, and now…” she shrugs, still pinning me with a stare. “He’s generously offered to rebuild the beautiful, private hotel that recently burned down atop Alexandria’s highest peak.”
Someone raises their hand. A girl probably not much older than me, with pink-framed glasses. Ria nods at her. The girl puts her hand down and adjusts her glasses. “Who owned that hotel?”
I swear I couldn’t have asked for a better day to actually go to a class.
Ria arches a brow, as if thinking. “I believe it was a man with the last name of Rain.” Another glare toward me. Which means she knows. Somehow, she knows I’m Jeremiah’s sister, even though that night, she didn’t know.
A guy across the row from me snorts. “Shouldn’t this Rain dude have enough money to rebuild his hotel, if he owned the damn thing?” He slouches down in his seat. “I tried to sneak in there once. Dude had armed guards outside of the gate.”
My gaze snaps back to Ria. Professor Tweed is shifting in his chair.
Ria nods. “You would think. As it is, this dude hasn’t been found.”
The guy rolls his eyes. “Maybe he set it on fire himself. Taxes or something.” He laughs to himself.
The hotel is no longer in my name. I made sure Nicolas at least did that one thing for me, even though he screwed up everything else. It’s listed back under Jeremiah’s name. But apparently, Jeremiah has gone MIA. Which is fine with me.
“Maybe,” Ria says unconvincingly. “Back to the Malikovs,” she starts pacing again, looking down at her heels. “Whose heard the rumors?” She glances up. Hands raise. She grins. “Throw ‘em at me.”
I look around, waiting.
“Devil worshipers,” someone calls out. A few people laugh.
“I mean, dude named his son Lucifer after all,” the guy in the back of the class says, voice full of practicality.
Ria nods. “Anything else?” she asks.
“Billionaires.”
“Probably true,” Ria confirms.
“Unsaints!” someone calls out, loud and clear.
I freeze.
It was the same older woman who had asked who hadn’t heard of the Malikovs.
Ria stops in her tracks and nods toward the woman. “That’s what I was looking for,” she says with a small smile.
Tweed is getting really uncomfortable. He’s back to drumming his hands on the desk, rapidly. But Ria keeps talking, ignoring his body language.
“The Unsaints have become a bit of a local legend around Alexandria.” Her eyes meet mine for a second. “The sons of some of the oldest families in town, Lucifer Malikov being one of them. They have a reputation for being handsome, lewd, and, of course, filthy rich.”
A few chuckles, and then someone says, “Yeah, and don’t forget, murderers.”
Ria’s eyes narrow on the guy who called that out. “Oh?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know.
I realize I’m holding my breath. Tweed has stopped his drumming again, and I wonder if he’s holding his, too.
“I mean, we all know about Unsaints Night. Their little orgies in the woods.” The guy talking clasps his hands together on the desk and leans forward, almost conspiratorially. “And,” he says, pitching his voice lower, “my sister said they skipped it this year because last year, someone fucking poisoned them. And then they killed who did it!”
My heart clenches.
“Language!” Tweed shouts, twisting in his seat. I can see his face. It’s blotchy and red. He narrows his eyes at the guy who holds up his hands as if in surrender. He turns back to Ria. “Miss Cuevas, I think that’s more than enough. We aren’t here to discuss wild rumors and baseless speculations. This is a history course, not theatre.” He stands to his feet.
“Well,” the older woman who has been answering Ria’s questions says gently, looking down at her nails, “it’s not all rumors, Professor Moore.” Moore, still standing, frowns at her, but doesn’t say anything. “I don’t know about all of them, but the Society of 6, their parents, are well known in the community.” She meets Moore’s eyes and shrugs. “That Rain boy, he’s the one that killed his foster parents. They were in the 6. The Malikov boy didn’t offer to rebuild the hotel out of the goodness of his heart. It’s because Rain is an Unsaint, too.”
Moore shakes his head. “Those murders were self-defense.” He walks to the podium, glaring at Ria. “Thank you, Miss Cuevas, for this colorful contribution to my classroom today.” He nods to the seat he just vacated, indicating she should sit. She shakes her head.
Moore basically shoos her out. I snap my notebook shut and shove it, along with my pen, in my bag, and then I race down the steps that divide the lecture room and hurry after her, yanking open the door just as she closes it. I don’t offer an explanation, even as Moore is saying, “Excuse me!” after me.
I slam the door shut and look down the hallway. Ria is easy to spot. She’s the only one out here besides me. I race after her and grab her arm, whirling her around.
She looks pissed. I drop her arm.
“What was that about?” I ask her. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you—”
She throws up her hands. “Yeah? Well I didn’t really want you to find me. Especially not after what your brother did to us.”
“Us?” I ask, rearing back, surprised.
She rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. “The girls,” she grits out. “We…all of us…he spiked everyone’s drink.”
“I know,” I snap back, shaking my head. Is she actually accusing me of having something to do with this? “And how do you know he’s my brother?”
She chews her bottom lip. “I talk to Mayhem.”
I instantly feel guilty about hooking up with him at the party two weeks ago, even though I don’t know why. But then I see a dark bruise on her neck, barely visible over the collar of her shirt, and wonder if they’ve already kissed and made up.
She rubs her hand over it, catching my eye. She looks down. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“What? Why?” I cross my arms, adjusting my backpack. “I didn’t have anything to do with those drinks that night! Surely Mayhem told you that.”
She frowns, her golden eyes downcast. “I actually can’t talk to you.” She meets my gaze and her eyes narrow. “I had to sign a fucking NDA after that night, Sid. Mayhem’s family came to my dorm early the next morning, with fucking guns!”