Page 83 of Illusionist
NOVA
Something feels wrong. The air carries an electric charge that has nothing to do with the storm clouds gathering overhead, and everything to do with the fact that Silas and Teddy vanished the moment Roman showed his face.
My pulse hammers against my throat. Silas isn't the type to let threats just walk away into the night, especially not threats that put their hands on me. The way his eyes went completely black when he saw my husband, the careful control in his voice when he told Roman to leave—that wasn't mercy. That was a predator letting prey think it had escaped.
My feet carry me across the carnival grounds before my brain catches up. The trailer where we held Teddy sits dark at the edge of the lot, but light bleeds around the edges of the covered windows. I can hear voices inside. Low, controlled. Dangerous.
I don't knock.
The door swings open to reveal exactly what I suspected. Silas stands over Roman, who's zip-tied to a metal chair in the center of the trailer. Logan flexes his fire-scarred hands while Cole spins a knife between his fingers. Teddy hovers near the wall, his face pale.
“Were you planning to keep me away from all the fun?” I ask deadpan.
Silas turns, surprise flickering across his features. “I wasn't sure you'd want to be involved.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. “You don't know me very well then. I almost killed this piece of shit once already. I want to be here when he takes his last breath.”
Roman's head snaps toward me, blood already trickling from his split lip. “Nova, baby, please. These men are fucking insane. Help me. You know me?—”
The laugh that escapes me sounds feral even to my own ears. “Help you?” I step closer, letting him see the hatred burning in my eyes. “Why would I ever help a man who only ever hurt me?”
Roman's face crumples. “I loved you. Everything I did was because I loved you.”
“Love?” The word tastes like poison. “You groomed a fifteen-year-old girl. You isolated me, controlled me, hit me, choked me, raped me for twelve fucking years. That wasn't love, Roman.”
I turn to Silas, who's watching me hungrily. “What were you planning to do with him?”
“Make him suffer.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Then stage a car accident.”
“Perfect.” I bite my lip. “Where do we start?”
Silas moves to a metal table I hadn't noticed before, lined with tools that make my stomach clench with anticipation rather than fear. He selects a pair of pliers, testing their grip. “Roman Miller. Forty-four years old. Started fucking his wife when she was fifteen and he was thirty-two.”
“That's not—Nova, tell them that's not true,” Roman stammers.
“It's exactly true.” I accept the pliers from Silas, our fingers brushing. The metal feels cold and perfect in my palm. “Remember my sixteenth birthday, Roman? When you told meI was finally legal in Washington? Except you'd already been in my bed for a year.”
Roman's eyes go wide. “You wanted it. You seduced me?—”
The pliers crack against his kneecap before I even realize I've moved. His scream fills the trailer, raw and beautiful.
“Fifteen-year-olds can't seduce grown men,” I hiss.
Silas's hand settles on my lower back, warm and grounding. “What do you want to do to him, baby?”
I study Roman's terrified face, cataloguing every line of pain and fear. “Remember when you used to twist my fingers when I didn't cook dinner the way you liked? When you'd bend them back until I cried and begged you to stop?”
Roman shakes his head frantically. “Nova, please?—”
I grab his pinky finger and position the pliers. “Twelve years of please, Roman. Twelve years of begging you to stop hurting me. Did you ever listen?”
The snap of bone is oddly satisfying. Roman's shriek drowns out the sound of his fingernail tearing as I twist. Blood wells up, dripping onto the trailer floor.
“Nova!” Teddy's voice cracks. When I glance at him, his face is green, his eyes wide open.
“First torture session?” Silas asks him without mockery.
Teddy nods, swallowing hard.
