Breaker (Unmasked #3)

41. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Cora

I started sleeping with the lights on when I was six years old. It gave me a small amount of comfort to see the devil as she entered my room. My mother would come in and tell me to stay in bed and go to sleep. She never tucked me in. No, Fallen Angels with flaming red hair don’t offer such comforts.

One night, I dared to ask for a glass of water, and she slapped me so hard that I never asked again. From then on, I had everything I needed before she came to enforce her strict rule of staying in bed. It wasn’t until I snuck out one night and stumbled upon her bent over the couch, a man thrusting into her from behind while sucking on her underwear, my father watching from behind his desk, that I finally understood why my mother wanted me to stay locked away in my room at night.

Not that she cared if I saw what she was up to. To be honest, with the number of guests coming in and out, she probably didn’t give a damn. She just wanted to be left alone. Having a child ruined her parties and shoving me in the closet was her quick fix.

I got used to it after a while. Being in that darkness for hours. But then she forgot about me that day and I became a different person.

When she finally found me two days later, I could see the horror in her eyes. Not because she almost killed me. No, my mother’s only concern was her well-being. She argued with daddy I didn’t need to go to a hospital. They’d try to have her arrested, and after all, it was my fault she had to put me in there.

Being back at the estate has all those memories clawing their way to the surface. I’ve wandered around, turning on every single light in the house, Clyde in tow, until I finally told him to leave me alone.

Zane said he’d be here soon, and my nerves are frayed.

My earlier message to him said I wanted to meet to go over a few things. He agreed and said he’d meet me here this afternoon.

After last night, I know I need to do this. Between Rune and Zane, if this marriage is finalized, I will no longer have control over my life or my body. Neither man will be satisfied until they own my soul.

I have to put a stop to it.

When we finished at his home range this morning, I told Clyde we needed to return to the estate. He grumbled, but he drove me here anyway without further questions.

Now I’m standing outside the hall closet where she had locked me away, dressed in my mother’s slacks and silk blouse, her black flats, the pretty diamond earrings she cherished adorning my ears. I want to open the door and let light flood the space that holds so much darkness. Like bringing brightness to that haunted place will somehow ease the pain stabbing my heart.

I’m a fool, I know.

But I still want to do it. For the past me. For the kid who still lives in my memories, terrified of the dark. I long to bring some light to her world, but I can’t even lift my hand to open the door.

The realization that I cannot fight for my past self hurts just as much as the fact that it took years for me to start fighting for myself now. And I only found the courage because others told me I am worthy.

I never even believed it myself. I always felt like I deserved the abuse. My mother had ruined me in so many ways. I was shaped by her abuse and neglect and what she never gave me. Love. Appreciation. I spent the first ten years of my life feeling like a burden, constantly told that I was worthless. Even after escaping her torment, I still carried the reminder that my worth came with conditions.

I had to be sweet. Amiable. Never complain. Stay out of the way. Then, and only then, was I worthy of attention.

Nerves fizzing, I reach for the door handle. My fingertips brush against the cold metal knob, while my other hand reaches for the light switch on the wall. Turn. Flip. Pale yellow light fills the small space, causing my stomach to twist and my fingers to ache.

My gaze falls to the inside of the wooden door. The grooves left by my little fingernails still etched in the wood grain.

It’s just a closet. Not a tomb. I am no longer that helpless girl. I am a woman now, determined to put an end to being everyone’s doormat.

Hanging on the metal bar are old sweaters and raincoats. In the corner my little rain boots sit, the yellow flowers faded. On the top shelf are old storage boxes and albums. I stand on my tiptoes, reaching for the first album. My finger’s brush the edge and pictures scatter, fluttering like leaves to the floor as pull it down and hug it to my chest.

“What are you doing?” Clyde asks from behind me. I startle, dropping the photo album.

“Nothing.” I drop to a crouch to stuff the scattered pictures in the book and stand upright, kicking the door shut.

The loud clang of the doorbell makes Clyde stiffen, and he grabs my arm, glaring at me. “What the heck are you doing? Who is at the door?”

I give him a sly smirk. “Zane and I have some important matters to discuss.”

***

Maybe this was a bad idea. My hands tremble, and my heart is pounding so fast it’s making me dizzy. This meeting felt like a good idea the other day, but right now I’m not so sure. Right now, I feel like the small woman I’ve always been—an afterthought, a pushover, someone to be used and cast aside.

A pit-stop on the way to better things.

A symbol of revenge for a man whose cruelty knows no bounds.

“I’ve got the bastard waiting in the foyer.” Clyde’s deep voice breaks through the mess in my head. “Want to tell me what you plan to discuss?”

“No,” I say, avoiding eye contact as I slide my palm over the glossy desk. My eyes land on the white envelope holding either my freedom or my demise. “Send him in.”

A day ago, I had called for a cleaning crew and now the house sparkles under the late afternoon light streaming through the open drapes. The faint scent of lemon polish lingers in the air.

I miss Viper. Miss his hands on me and the way he seems to eat up the space in a room, like it belongs to him, and he just allows others to exist in it.

Striker

Reaper.

God, how I yearn for Delly.

A few minutes later, Zane saunters in, Clyde trailing closely behind. Zane gestures to the large desk, lip lifted into a snide smirk. “Embracing your roots, I see.”

I give Clyde a dismissive nod and I feel so much like my mother in this moment that my stomach roils.

Clyde turns to Zane, pointing a finger in his face in warning. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself or I’ll cut them off.”

Zane’s chuckle earns him a deadly glare as Clyde exits the room, closing the door behind him.

He’s going to give me such shit later.

“Please, have a seat.” I gesture to the plush chair across from my father’s absurdly large Victorian desk. As I stand up from my seat, I smooth down my mother’s slacks and move to stand before him. Propping a hip on the desk to stare down my nose at him, which is hard to achieve when you’re only five-foot-two. “And tell me about my roots.”

His eyes narrow as he sits, unbuttoning his navy blue suit jacket as he does. Zane is a contradiction in every sense of the word. He’s handsome and charming. His smile makes people believe he’s open, his pretty eyes almost kind. But he hides his darkness behind a statin veil because he’s pure evil, all the way down to his tarry, putrid soul.

Because what kind of man laughs when a mother locks her little girl in a closet?

“Why am I here?” Zane asks, clearly annoyed. He won’t be soon. Soon he’ll be cowering. “I came here with the understanding you were ready to—“

“Suck your tiny dick?” I cut him off, leaning back and crossing my ankles. “Let you fuck me? Tell me Zane—“ I lean forward, gripping the arms of his chair, my face level with his, ”—do you still cry when you come?”

I stumble backward as he shoves me away. Zane bolts from the seat, his eyes swirling with rage.

He grips the collar of my shirt and drags me forward, but then forcefully pushes me away as a laugh slips from my throat.

“Better be careful, pretty boy,” I snarl, my insides buzzing with a combination of hatred and quiet satisfaction at the look of fear on his face.

“Or what?” he growls.

“Or all your secrets may accidentally slip past my lips.”

Zane’s brows furrow, like he’s trying to figure out which secrets I’m referring to, at the same moment his hand drops away from my shirt.

Heart hammering, I lean back against the desk and smooth the collar of my shirt. This may actually work. With a smirk, I say, “Let’s finalize the details, shall we?”

His jaw clenches, but he nods as he lowers himself back into the seat.

“When did you find out?”

His tongue presses to his canine as he eyes me. “Only a few weeks ago.”

“This agreement is new?”

“Enough.”

“Before or after we were taken?”

“A few weeks before.”

“Who proposed it?”

“Rune.”

Of course he did.

And of course, Zane would accept. The greedy bastard he is. He’s just like Rune. Hiding his evil with smiles and sweet praises. Stupid of me to underestimate him. I should have known better.

“Being an antagonistic bitch doesn’t suit you, Cora,” Zane snaps. “Out with it.”

I smile sweetly as his face grows red with irritation. “Being an impatient narcissist suits you well, but you don’t see me getting all hot in the face about it.”

“My, my, what sass you have,” he says, laughing loudly, but it’s edged with violence. His eyes darken as his jaw clenches. “I can’t wait to fuck it right out of your mouth.”

I grin, propping my hands on the desk behind me, willing them not to shake from the violence swirling in his eyes. “See, here’s the thing, Zane. You won’t be anywhere near my mouth, or any part of me with your pencil dick.”

Zane quirks a brow. “Pencil dick?”

Just like a man. More concerned that I insulted his penis than the fact I just threatened him with revealing his secrets.

I shake my head. “More like the stub of one, after it’s been shaved down to the nub.”

He laughs, enjoying our game. “And how will you stop my pencil dick from taking what I want? Clyde’s not going to move in with you when we’re married.”

“I don’t need Clyde.”

“Oh, no?”

I lean forward, whispering so he has to lean forward too. “See, I know a little something about you.”

He chuckles darkly. “Is that so?”

“Indeed,” I say, matching his arrogance. “But I’m willing to a make a deal with you.”

A single brow raises as a smile snakes over his lips. “I’m glad to see you again, Cora. I was worried that your time with those degenerates had removed your spark.” Zane keeps his eyes locked on mine. Stupid man thinks he has the upper hand because he’s bigger, stronger, and has Rune’s ear. Thinks I’m incapable of fighting back. “What’s this deal?”

I reach for the envelope. My heart thumps in my ears as I lean down and set it on his lap.

Without a word, he grabs the envelope and leans back in his seat. As he pulls out the images, his face drains of color and those hazel eyes shoot up to meet mine, and I know I’ve got him.

The photos are grainy, but you can still identify who’s in the pictures.

“Where the fuck did you get these?” he hisses, shoving them back into the envelope and tucking it into his suit jacket. He glances toward the door, like Clyde’s there, taking stock of our conversation.

“You can keep those as a memento,” I say, gesturing to his chest. “Don’t worry. I have copies and two separate drives as backup, in case you lose those.”

Zane’s chest rises, hands tightening on his thighs. I’m sure he’s imaging throttling me, but I’ve got his balls in a vise, and he knows it. “What do you want?” he says.

“Unless you want those images leaked,” I say, looking as smug as I feel. “You will never touch me again.”

His teeth grind, his jaw working so hard I’d bet he’s about to crack a tooth.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Zane?”

“You can’t prove anything.” He taps the envelope hidden in his pocket. “I made a deal with Rune, and these pictures won’t even faze him.”

“Ah yes. The deal with Rune.” I stand upright, reveling in the power I’m holding. God, this feels good . Finally having the upper hand. “Let me see if I have this correct. We get married. You take control of my assets after I sign it all over to you. Then Rune gets my shares of the corporation, and you get my money. Probably the real estate too?”

“About sums up what he proposed.”

Walking back behind the desk, I sit, meeting his eyes dead on. “I’m surprised you’d want this house.”

His jaw tics.

“Then again, you have some fond memories from all the time you spent here.”

I don’t miss the slow drawing in of air. How his fingers grip the armrest. How his legs shift slightly, like his body is preparing to either lunge for me or bolt from the room.

Maybe he has yet to decide.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, even though the tightness in his jaw, the pulse throbbing in his neck, screams he obviously knows exactly what I mean.

“Prissy.”

Zane blanches and my belly fizzes with excitement. He shrinks into himself, like a dog waiting for the next kick.

“Prissy really liked you.” I lean back in the chair, sucking in the power I have over him, filling my lungs with it. Loving it’s sweet acidic taste on my tongue. “From what I remember, she screamed your name the loudest.”

His quick exhale lets me know I have him. I was young, but fuck, so was he. Zane would have only been in his early twenties when my mother held her parties. He was thinner back then, boyish but muscled. Face unmarked with age or experience, more pretty than handsome, the way young men tend to be.

I smile prettily, repeating the words he used to say when he’d come over. “’ Come, here, Prissy, sit on my lap. ‘”

I always saw them as they arrived. Sometimes my mother would forget about me and when she’d realize she’d forgotten to lock me away, I would catch glimpses of their faces as she shut the closet door.

Zane was one of her favorites.

And while the images of the security footage showing Zane walking into this house fifteen years ago, means he spent time with my parents, it doesn’t provide enough ammo to force him to his knees.

Only I can do that.

Stupid of him to think I wouldn’t remember him. But I do. His chameleon like ways and his vile sneer. How he’d talk loudly, not caring that a little girl was in the house, hearing and storing away everything he ever said.

Everything they ever planned.

“What do you want?” he asks quietly.

“You will not touch me. You will not threaten me. You will not come within five fucking feet of me. You will refuse to marry me, claiming you don’t want to marry a Julian,” I say. “Call it off and never come near me again.”

“He won’t believe that.”

“No?” I ask. “Papa would hate to hear that his trusted second, the man he let into his company, the man he trusted as if he were his own family, hid that he conspired with the enemy.”

His chest rises and falls, breaths coming faster and faster as panic sets in. “I didn’t know.”

I bolt up, hands slapping down on the desk as I lean over it, rage searing my veins. “Bullshit, Zane.”

He pales.

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you plotted with my mother to destroy Rune’s family.”