The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,57

side, kissing the top of her head. And this is the last image I wish to have of them—embracing and in love.

Turning around, I cradle Ella tightly in my arms and leave behind my world, in hopes I can return one day soon.

Ella

“NO!”

Jolting upright, I’m prepared to fight for my life because the last thing I remember was…

My brain hurts. So does my body. But it’s my soul I’m most concerned for.

Brushing the matted hair from my face, I take in my strange surroundings because I have no idea where I am.

I’m in a king-size bed covered in the finest linens, and the bedroom is just as luxurious. To my left is a door that is ajar, revealing a bathroom. The curtains are drawn over the large window in front of me, so I don’t know if it’s day or night.

The need to use the bathroom suddenly overwhelms me.

I peel back the blankets, only to see I’m in an oversized white shirt that is not mine. Drawing the collar to my nose, I inhale deeply and am engulfed in heaven and hell. I’d recognize this fragrance anywhere—Alek.

But why am I in his shirt? And where the hell am I?

My body creaks as I slowly place my feet onto the carpet and come to a wobbly stand. The room is swaying, so I take small steps toward the bathroom. Once inside, I quickly use the toilet, sighing in relief when I see the marbled shower feet away.

I desperately want to use it as I feel gross, but the need to find out where I am and whom I’m with has me flushing the toilet and washing my hands in the sink. Innocently looking into the mirror above the basin, I yelp and turn over my shoulder, convinced a monster stands behind me.

But when I see that no one is there, I realize that monster is me.

Slowly turning back around, I grip the sink, staring into the bloodshot eyes of a stranger. This looks like me, but it can’t be.

My face is black and blue with swirls of red. My nose is swollen, as is my left eye, which I can barely see out of. Dozens of small cuts on my face are red and inflamed. Leaning closer into the mirror, I peel back my bottom lip to see indents of my two front teeth incised into the flesh.

Clenching the porcelain, I’m suddenly hit with a searing pain, the same pain I felt when Frank beat me to a bloody pulp. With a wounded hiss as two of my fingernails are snapped clean off, I unfasten two buttons on my shirt and lift the material away from my skin to see my body is badly bruised.

Tears of fury fill me because I am SO FUCKING ANGRY!

I was…raped, humiliated, threatened, and beaten within an inch of my life. I should have fought harder. I should have done more.

But when I think about my motives, about why I did what I did, I realize there is one running theme—Aleksei Popov.

I did all of this because I thought I was protecting him, but he showed me what a fucking idiot I am for thinking I meant anything to him when he lost a game of poker on purpose.

Alek knew Saint and Willow could look after themselves, and him losing was to teach Santo a lesson. Not once did he take me into consideration. He knew Saint and Willow would be safe, but what about me? If he won, none of this would have happened.

His cruel reply plays over and over in my mind. “She looks like she bites. I probably would have asked for a rematch if I won.”

That motherfucking asshole.

Cupping water in my palms, I wash my face, flinching when the hot water burns my sensitive skin. Helping myself to a new toothbrush on the counter, I brush my teeth gently as my mouth stings. Once I’m as clean as I can be without showering, I turn off the water and dry my face with the plush hand towel.

The military precision of items in here pisses me off, so I childishly knock over a few bottles on the counter and rearrange the towels on the rack so they’re no longer aligned. The disarray makes me feel somewhat better.

My tangled hair is a lost cause, so I twist it into a bun, securing it with an elastic I find in one of the drawers. A small pair of scissors catches my eye, so I stow