Chapter 12 The Collection
Serena
I hated myself for how easily they unraveled me.
I was supposed to be like steel, unbreakable, untouchable, the girl who’d just danced for her life in a cage full of pit bulls and walked out with my head high.
Instead, the second Saint and Sin closed in around me in that cage, all my bravado dissolved like smoke.
My body remembered every filthy fantasy I’d spun while singing in the cage. I’d performed for killers, but in my head it had been them watching, Sin’s starving glare, Saint’s steady possession, and the memory still burned low in my belly.
I needed distance. Air. Anything to rebuild the walls they kept tearing down.
I slipped away from them the moment we reached the main floor, cursing them in all the languages I knew. Spanish included.
They let me go, probably because they knew I wasn’t running far.
I made it halfway down the east wing corridor when the voice sliced through the silence behind me.
“You don’t fit into this world.”
The owner of the voice spoke coldly and sharply. I could smell the disdain dripping from her words.
“I just wish Christabel would stop with these ridiculous tests and kick you out already. Ever since you arrived, nothing has been the same.”
I turned slowly. She stood there like a storm cloud in designer black. She was tall, angular and mean-faced, her gimlet eyes drilling into me like she could peel my skin off with a look.
I recognized her instantly from that disastrous family dinner, the night Saint first introduced me to his family.
Their father’s sister. if I remembered right. The one who’d spent the entire evening staring at me like I was a stain on the priceless rug.
She crossed her arms, bold diamonds glinting on every finger.
I forced a small, saccharine smile. “I’ll be happy if you told her to stop with the tests. It’s a waste of time. At least someone else thinks the same thing.”
Her frown deepened, her lips thinning into a razor line. She clearly hadn’t expected sarcasm. She’d wanted tears, or rage, or me scurrying away like a scolded child.
Instead I gave her calm mockery, and it threw her off balance.
For a second she just stared, recalculating. Then she tilted her head, a predator scenting weakness.
“Does Saint know Sin has a collection of you in his bedroom?”
My lips parted on a silent inhale. The words hit home, I swear.
A collection. Of me. Why?
I schooled my expression fast, blank, almost bored, but damn, I was shaking from shock.
“Does he?” I echoed softly, letting a tiny edge of curiosity creep in.
“What kind of collection, pray tell?” I asked, my voice deceptively light. “Please, indulge me.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically, her gaze raking over the stained silk nightie still clinging to me like a second, filthy skin.
The dried meat streaks had crusted into dark patches; the smell of blood and raw beef hung around me like cheap perfume.
She looked like she might gag. To be honest, I was going to gag soon.
“Just to get rid of you faster,” she snapped, “because you currently stink like the back of a poultry farm, Sin’s room is upstairs. Right wing, end of the hall. Good luck snooping around.” She waved a manicured hand in front of her nose like she was dispersing toxic fumes. “Hmmmph.”
She turned on her heel and stalked off, her black dress swishing, leaving only the sharp echo of her heels and the faint cloud of her expensive perfume behind.
I stood there for a beat, my heart thudding unevenly.
A collection… The word looped in my head like a taunt. What kind of collections? Why would Sin even keep collections of me when he hadn't even known me for long?
The idea should have made me furious. It did make me furious. But underneath the anger was something darker, hotter. A twisted curiosity.
What did he keep? How long had he been watching? And why did the thought of Sin, brooding, starving Sin, obsessing over scraps of me make my skin flush instead of crawl?
I glanced down the corridor. It was empty and silent. The guest wing stretched one way while the grand staircase to the private family quarters loomed the other.
There was no going back now that I knew there was a collection of me in Sin's bedroom. I took the stairs two at a time, my bare soles silent on the marble.
The right wing corridor was darker because there were fewer windows, heavier shadows, the air cooler and scented with cedar smoke and something metallic. Sin’s scent.
It hit me before I even reached the door at the end.
Everything here was black. Matte finish. There was no handle on the door, just a discreet keypad.
Of course. All the doors except mine had keypads.
What would the password be? Gosh. Maybe I would start with my name for a start. I typed it in and the lock clicked green. Okay, now that was creepy. Why the heck would Sin use my name as the passkey
The door swung open on silent hinges. Darkness greeted me first, then the faint glow of a desk lamp left on.
Heavy curtains blocked the morning sun. The room smelled overwhelmingly of him: cedar, smoke, clean sweat, and something faintly metallic like old coins or camera equipment.
My eyes adjusted. The bed was massive, black sheets rumpled like someone had slept badly.
I went to work immediately, like a thief, ransacking everything. I needed to see that collection and what it could be.
My hands moved on autopilot, my heart hammering with a mix of fury and sick fascination.
Call me stupid. Call me reckless. Call me whatever you want. But I knew one thing for certain, I wouldn’t sleep tonight or ever again if I walked out of this room without seeing exactly what Sin had been hoarding.
Photos? Recordings? My underwear? A strand of hair he’d clipped while I slept? The possibilities twisted in my gut, equal parts violation and dark intrigue.
Sin's bedroom had another room adjoined to it, and like a mouse following a cheese trail, I pushed the door open and went in.
And regretted it instantly.