Maxen came in with Nikhael. He entered the room after Severin walked out. His face was drawn with worry as he rushed toward Isolde, unlocking the cuffs around her wrists and gently cupping her cheeks.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
For a moment, Isolde looked into Maxen's worried eyes. Then her gaze shifted behind him, where Severin stood, glancing back with that cold, razor-edged stare.
She couldn't tell whether that look was aimed at her or Maxen. Probably her. Severin had always despised weakness in his men, and seeing one of them show concern for a whore worse, for a prisoner like her, was something he wouldn't tolerate.
Severin left with Nikhael. Isolde's eyes returned to Maxen, who watched her like she was something breakable.
Maxen helped her to the bed, laying her down gently before tending to the wounds on her wrists, red and raw from where the cuffs had scraped her skin.
She lay still on the sheets that now reeked of Severin. His scent lingered on the bed, a mix of cigarettes, blood, gunpowder, and mint. Her attention drifted back to Maxen as he focused on cleaning her wounds, murmuring under his breath.
"I'll find a way to get you out of here. I promise." Isolde said nothing. She didn't want to believe him. Maxen had made promises before, whispering in her ear that he'd never hurt her, unlike the others. And yet, in the end, he had. He'd shared her with his twin, let that bastard tear her apart when she was already barely holding together.
She couldn't trust anyone anymore. People always disappointed her. Yes, she wanted to escape. But for now, surviving came first until she could see Lucien again.
She'd be done once she found Lucien and ensured her mother lived peacefully with her little brother. After that, Isolde wouldn't care about anything. She wouldn't beg Severin to spare her life. If he wanted to put a bullet in her skull or carve her open for her organs, so be it.
.
.
.
Because Severin kept coming to her every night and didn't leave until morning, Maxen started visiting during the day. He'd taken over Liraine's role, treating her wounds and staying with her through breakfast and lunch.
A few times, she ran into Mathias while she was with Maxen. But Mathias never spoke to her. And she didn't want him to. She didn't even need his apology.
Still, the way he looked at her, stared at her, every damn time she was with Maxen, it made her skin crawl.
Isolde didn't understand why Mathias kept looking at her with that unreadable gaze. Was he angry because his twin brother was spending more time with her? Or did Mathias want to apologize but didn't have the courage?
Tch. No courage? A sniper, Severin's prized living weapon, lacking courage? That couldn't be it. Whatever. Fuck Mathias. Isolde didn't need his apology, and she certainly didn't want anything to do with him.
She was having lunch with Maxen and Liraine when Mathias, who usually just walked past their table, suddenly approached, stopping beside Liraine. He was staring at Isolde, but his words were directed at his twin, not her.
"Boss gave us a new mission. We leave tonight." Maxen looked up, visibly surprised.
"Are you sure? Boss usually doesn't hand out new missions this fast after a major one. We normally get months off before he sends us out again."
Mathias's jaw tightened. He shifted his gaze from Isolde to his brother. "You think I get something out of bullshitting about this? Boss gave the order. We're flying to Italy tonight."
Maxen gripped his spoon tightly. Isolde knew why. Maxen didn't want to leave. But he couldn't defy Severin either. Disobedience meant rebellion, and rebellion meant punishment. The kind of punishment that would tear his soul right out of his body.
"This isn't like him," Maxen muttered, earning his twin a bitter, mocking chuckle.
"You played house with his new favourite whore. What did you fucking expect? Of course, he's kicking you out under the excuse of a mission." Mathias glanced at Isolde before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving the three at the table.
"Go. Don't hesitate just because of me," Isolde murmured, eyes on her food.
"It's not like your presence has changed anything. You can't stop Severin from coming to me every night. You just cling to me and make the others here glare at me like I'm some spoiled bitch. You've only made me more of a target."
Maxen looked at Isolde with guilty eyes. But she didn't need that pitiful look, and his guilt didn't make her feel any better. "I'll come back as soon as I can. I'll carry out every mission the Boss gives us properly. And I'll keep asking for you as my reward. I'll convince Mr. Severin that letting you go won't endanger him. I'll fight for you to have your freedom back."
.
.
.
"This mission isn't even about killing anyone. It's surveillance. Shitty low-tier spy work. Missions like this are usually handed to other subordinates, not us. We shouldn't even be touching crap like this," Maxen grumbled in the car, exhausted after the long flight from Vegas to Italy.
Mathias shot a cold glare at his twin behind the wheel. "You still don't get it, do you? Why Boss sent us here, even though we usually handle the top-tier assignments? You still don't see the reason? You got too close to Isolde. You put her in danger."
Maxen's grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. "You're the one who put her in danger. Your stupidity is what landed her in the Velvet Cage! You never take anything seriously. I told you back then I was really in love with her. I wasn't playing around. I wanted to tell her the truth. About us. About you. But you fucked everything up!"
His nostrils flared in anger, breath coming faster. "You always make problems. You're the reason I ended up in prison, because you couldn't take things seriously. You always thought everything was a joke. You were careless. If you hadn't been so reckless accepting that client who wanted to buy our product that night, the cops wouldn't have chased you, and I wouldn't have had to distract them and land in jail for it!"
Mathias stayed silent, but Maxen wasn't finished. His rage hadn't burned out yet. "I rotted in prison while you destroyed my relationship with Isolde. You said her sister's name while you were screwing her. You did that for your own twisted pleasure. You always treat everything like a fucking game. You destroyed everything. And now that I'm trying to take back what I lost, you tell me I'm being reckless? Who's been reckless here, Mathias, me, or the one who's been screwing everything up again and again?"
The car pulled into the parking lot of an old motel. Mathias got out immediately, opened the trunk, and slung a guitar case over his shoulder. However, it held no guitar, only firearms.
Even though this mission wasn't a kill job, just surveillance, neither Mathias nor Maxen ever went anywhere without their weapons. Partly in case the mission changes at the last minute and partly for their safety.
.
.
.
Just as Isolde had suspected, when Maxen wasn't by her side, and Liraine left with Nikhael, she became an easy target. Tiffara, who had been quietly nurturing her hatred toward Isolde since arriving, finally made her move.
Isolde had intentionally stayed in her room to avoid this situation. But Tiffara was never subtle and never alone. The woman came to Isolde's room with her little clique of loyal whores, there for one reason only: to "teach her a lesson" while Liraine and Maxen were away.
Of course, Isolde fought back. She'd fought convicts in prison, thieves, killers. She wasn't going to roll over for a bunch of painted-up prostitutes. But just like in prison, she was outnumbered. Isolde was alone. Tiffara had four girls with her.
Her hair was yanked. A slap cracked across her cheek. Then, a kick to her shoulder made Isolde wince—she felt something twist painfully out of place.
But even so, she pushed herself up, lifting her chin high, refusing to show weakness. Her shoulder throbbed, her hair was falling out in chunks, her cheek burned, the corner of her mouth was split, and blood dripped from her nose. Still, she stood tall. She'd be damned if she let Tiffara see her break.
Backed up until her hips hit Liraine's table, the one with the fake flowers and aromatherapy candles she changed daily, Isolde grabbed one of the glass candles. It smashed it against Tiffara's head in one swift motion.
Tiffara stumbled back, shocked and bleeding. She doubled over, clutching her forehead as blood seeped through her fingers. Her little minions rushed to her side, panic on their faces when they saw the wound on her head.
Tiffara shrieked when she saw the blood on her hands, her glare sharpening with unfiltered rage aimed straight at Isolde.
"You fucking bitch!" she screamed, lunging again, grabbing Isolde's hair with a hand still smeared in her blood.
"How dare you touch me?! I'm worth something in this place, unlike you! My face, my body, they're everything! And you, you dared to mark me?!" Her voice thundered through the room, veins bulging from her neck, pure fury consuming every inch of her.
…