Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,124
It fits in my hand and it moves. Yes. It moves. No more bad man. No more pain.
“Hold still, you little bitch!”
“Not yours!” I scream, my voice breaking. “Not yours! His! I’m his! You can’t have it!” With every word, I fight. With every word, I battle to keep my promise. “I’m his! Not yours! His! His! His!” My arm hurts, and I can’t breathe. Oh God, I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
A soft voice whispers in my ear, “It’s over.”
She’s here, so I listen. I stop yelling and stop fighting, but I still can’t breathe.
Slowly, I open my eyes to see Rosten still on top of me, but he’s not hurting me anymore. He’s not saying ugly things to me anymore. He’s not moving anymore.
I can’t breathe because he’s lying on top of me.
“Get off,” I wheeze. “Get off! Get off! Get off!” He doesn’t. I wiggle and squirm and push until there’s enough space for me to crawl out from underneath him.
Why am I so sticky?
Then I remember what he did to me and shame burns my cheeks. Oh no. Tears flood my eyes. I’m not Dominic’s anymore. He took what belonged to Dominic and left his stain.
Heartbroken, I reach down to pull up my jeans when I realize my legs are red. My face flames hotter and the tears fall harder. Then I see my shirt. And my arms. And my hands.
All red.
The voice whispers again, “Run.”
I nod because she’s always right. Reaching for my jeans again, I try to pull them up, but I can’t. There’s something in my hand. I open my palm and stare down at a long, silver letter opener. It’s covered in sticky red, and it smells like pennies.
Sticky red drips off my hand and onto the floor.
Another whisper. “Run.”
I can’t listen to her because my heart is thump-thump-thumping in my ears. Slowly, I turn my head toward the desk. The same red, sticky stuff that’s on my hands drips off the side.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Rosten is lying on his stomach quiet and still. He’s red and sticky, too. Everything smells like pennies. My jeans are still around my knees as I shuffle toward him, my Chucks squeaking on the messy floor.
“Rosten?” Please don’t answer. I move a little closer. And that’s close enough to see them.
Holes. Lots of holes.
In his neck. In his face. In his back.
Everywhere.
Sticky red oozing out of each one.
I shake, the metal in my hand growing heavy. I look down at the pointy sharp end. Just sharp enough to make lots of holes.
The letter opener hits the floor with a clang as I shake even more. I can’t breathe again. Everything hurts. I want it off me, but I have to leave.
She’s right.
Run.
I quickly pull up my jeans and fumble with the button. I don’t know what makes me pick up the letter opener, but I do. I hold it tightly in my hand, shoving most of it under my sleeve.
Dominic will know what to do.
I have to find Dominic.
But just as I step into the lobby, the elevator dings and the doors part.
Leaving the confines of the tunnel, I hear Dominic’s hoarse voice against my ear. “I’m so sorry. Come back to me. Please.” The dark room shifts back into focus as the sights and sounds of Rosten’s office fade away.
I’m on the floor of the bedroom, wrapped in Dominic’s arms. His hold is fierce, but I don’t say anything because his chest is rattling. I’ve never heard him make this sound before; I put my ear against his heart, and it rattles even louder.
“The name engraved on the letter opener is Gregory Rosten,” I say. “I remember now. I remember everything.”
He swallows hard. “I know.”
No, he doesn’t. “Dominic, he—”
He shakes his head. “I meant I know everything, rook. I know what you did, and why you did it. I know what that man did to you as a child and God knows how many others.” I feel his muscles tense. “If I could raise him from the dead and kill him himself, I would.”
“I saw Luciano there.” I look up at his face, and he doesn’t seem surprised. “What did he do with him?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
I don’t think I do, either. There are enough bad things in my head. Knowing Greg Rosten’s final resting place doesn’t need to be one of them. It’s bad enough I know where they found Violet…