Ruby stood on the balcony, the expanse of the lush green lawn stretching beneath her, fenced by white marble that gleamed silver under the high, indifferent moonlight. The crisp night air kissed her bare shoulders, making her cheeks feel flushed, mirroring the shade of her hairs.
Her hands roamed over her arms, trying to rub in some warmth, even as her feet refused to stray away from this wide, open escape and return to the stifling confines of her room. Her thoughts were entirely captivated by a strange, mysterious boy who had unexpectedly ventured into her rigidly controlled life.
She had first encountered him at Vance's lavish welcome party, and from that moment, a persistent, nagging feeling had whispered that she had laid eyes on that beautiful, fierce face once before. It was a countenance too distinctive, too compelling, to be erased by the sands of time. Those dark, challenging eyes, hair the color of midnight, and that devastating, charming smile—she was certain she had witnessed them before.
It wasn't until the Charity Event at the Regale Foundation that the forgotten memory surged back, raw and undeniable. When she finally placed him, the shock was profound; she could not, would not, believe herself. He was the same guy she had met on Zero Street, years back. He had been accompanied by a shy blonde, and he had, with enticing confidence, called himself the Terror of the Crow Streets.
She would have laughed at the ridiculously dramatic title but she had not dared take it lightly after what she witnessed. Her friend and she, intoxicated by their rebellious youth, had taken the whole 'going wild' thing too literally and had ventured deep into West Nolan in search of the forbidden pleasures that were the hallmark of those twisted dark alleys.
She had just turned eighteen, and given the toxic, complicated relationship with her father, she believed she had a right to rebel. A girl with textbook daddy issues—that's who she was, wrapped in silk and simmering resentment.
The goons who had accosted them on the street would not even have left their dead bodies intact - stripped and ruined perhaps, had it not been for those two boys. A chill swept through Ruby's bones as she recalled the events of that night, a memory vivid with blood and adrenaline.
The dark-haired boy was terror incarnate. While a smile was plastered across his face, a mask of almost cheerful violence, he had stabbed through the heart of a man twice his size. He struck as fast as lightning and without any qualms, his motions practiced and utterly ruthless.
There was neither remorse in his eye nor any psychotic pleasure that he exacted from such dominance. It seemed almost mechanical, almost instinctual, like a wolf dismantling its prey. It all came as a second nature to that boy and Ruby had been in awe of the West ever since.
West was a brutally honest land that wore no mask of civility and politeness. Man was bared to his primal nature in this land and in its bosom, it had raised some really dark knights.
The shy blonde one with him—whom she had taken to be a fallen angel of innocence gracing the earth with the warmest smile and kindest ocean-blue eyes—made quick, silent work of the rest.
All the while, the dark-haired devil had awkwardly flirted with her. Askai had no interest in her—not then, not now. She could see that clearly in his eyes as he had tried to cheer them up, to distract them from the horror that had transpired mere split seconds ago.
He wanted to lessen their trauma. Those cheesy lines and that handsome, almost theatrical bravado did manage to break the terrible pall that had fallen over them, but something primal inside Ruby had reared its head that night. She had felt liberated in a strange, exhilarating sort of way.
Unlike her friend, she wasn't trembling like a leaf with sweating palms. She stood there, charged by adrenaline, hot, vital blood pumping through her veins. Unlike her friends, she was no stranger to violence, only that its source had been cowardice. She was more appalled by the latter than the former.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and every hair on her body stood on end as her hand closed around a small pocket knife, and she felt her animalistic instinct surface.
She wanted to lose the stifling inhibitions of her class and be a part of the world where raw, undiluted force dominated the streets. There were no rules, no illusions to keep.
Askai was the zenith of that world, and she wanted that freedom, that dangerous truth.
She couldn't believe herself when she saw him sitting there as a college student, impeccably dressed, acting the part of a mere student. She was so sure he was his twin who had simply chosen another path. But the more she talked to him, the more she realized he was the exact same person.
Askai was his name, and he had forsaken the very world she had acquired a desperate taste for. What tragedy had occurred to change him so? And even if he did, how could anyone truly leave the black hole of the streets that only had a way in, never a way out?
She had so many questions, but she dared not blurt any. If Vance got a whiff of the truth, he would have flayed Askai alive for polluting the streets of the East End. Vance did not believe in redemption. Once cursed was cursed for him and to the ends he would go to enforce that law… A quiet, anguished sob escaped her throat at the dreadful thought.
The small, tortured sound was mistaken, however, by her faithful guard, Orion, who always hovered around her like a six-foot-five Guardian Angel forged in granite.
"Miss, you need not come downstairs if you do not wish to. Neither your father nor your brother can demand your presence. You are a lady—"
The antiquated words made her laugh - a brittle, strained sound. She turned toward the colossal man standing in the shadows watching her. There was nothing but kindness in her eyes for this dear, formidable old man.
"You mistake me, Orion. I am not scared of my father or my brother for that matter. Our expected guest is, in fact, someone I look forward to meeting."
Orion seemed to be in conflict for a moment, his massive frame shifting, then he begrudgingly added, "He is not expected anymore. He has already arrived. He is moving toward the mansion as we speak."
The words had barely left his mouth when Ruby twirled around, her resolve solidified. With hurried steps, she left the balcony. Orion followed her closely, his footfalls silent, as was expected of a shadow.
Ruby had barely reached the stairs leading to the drawing room when she heard heart-wrenching, agonizing moans coming from downstairs, muffled by the thick corridor doors. Her feet followed the sound, confusion and dread mixing in her stomach. What grotesque scene could possibly be happening now, when they expected such an important, powerful guest?
She threw open the drawing room doors, and suddenly, the frantic voice became agonizingly familiar. She launched herself into a run. This was Pamel, her brother's personal slave—a boy he had brought home from some foreign trip. The boy was young, almost doll-like, and spoke a tongue she had never heard before.
She finally reached the bottom of the stairs, her elegant white dress billowing behind her like a sail, but the scene she witnessed tore a painful, silent scream from her soul.
"You don't even know how to pour wine?! The ungrateful bastard!" Her brother, his voice a nasally, grating roar that made her nauseous, stood towering over the cowering boy.
She could barely breathe. Her brother was a monster, not an opinion, a fact. He was holding a leather belt in his raised hand while Pamel knelt at his feet, his upper body bare and his back covered in deep, weeping red gashes that bled profusely onto the kashmere carpet. How could a small, fragile thing like him even survive such deep wounds?
She did not know when she moved, but she heard a loud crash of glass and realized she was standing over her brother, who had collapsed onto a glass-top table. Maybe she pushed him. Maybe she didn't. Everything happened in a blur and she couldn't tell, but someone could.
Orion stood behind her, his six-foot-five frame towering over everyone else in the room, his shadow a looming, silent threat. Despite his station as a guard, Orion struck fear even in the heart of his supposed masters. His immense shadow cast a chilling threat of death on anyone who stepped into it. A soldier born and reared in the brutal reality of the West End.
But where was the belt?