A Night of Revelry and Envy: Vices &

Hedonism Mallory Fox & Rosa Lee

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A Night of Revelry and Envy
A DEADLY SINS NOVEL

VICES AND HEDONISM

 ROSA LEE
MALLORY FOX
BLACK JADE PUBLISHING
 Contents
Author’s Note

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue

Vices and Hedonism Series

About Rosa Lee
Also by Rosa Lee
About Mallory Fox
Also By Mallory Fox
 A N IGHT OF R EVELRY AND E NVY
Copyright © March 2023
by Rosa Lee & Mallory Fox

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this publication only. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior
written permission of the copyright holder. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the
copyright holder’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Published in the United Kingdom by

Black Jade Publishing Ltd.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover Design by TRC Designs

Editing by Autumn Reed
Proofing by Proofs by Polly
To each other, the best co-wifeys ever.
 A Night of Revelry and Envy
A NIGHT OF REVELRY AND ENVY

They can't save me, no one can.

My life has never been my own, my childhood was stolen from me by wicked men with greedy hands.
Forced to play into their dark depraved desires, my body is no longer my own.

Then one night they arrive, the sons of my captors, the ghosts of my past, desperate to prove
themselves worthy of the tarnished crown that one day they will inherit.

Like their sires, they are drawn to me, their darkness trying to consume me, body and soul. They're
determined to take the one thing I have left; my heart.

But vengeance sits like a serpent coiled around the organ, ready to strike down her enemies with
fangs and poison, leaving no prisoners.

Hell hath no fury like a woman trapped, and the last thing they'll see is a flash of green as I take
everything that belonged to them and watch it burn.
 Author’s Note

A Night of Revelry and Envy novella is a Dark Sins co-write between Rosa Lee and Mallory Fox,
containing adult and dark themes, violence, swearing, and steamy moments.

Please visit www.rosaleeauthor.com and www.malloryfoxauthor.com for a full list of potential

triggers.

❤
Rose & Mallory
One
CAIN
T heinvitation
thick paper feels luxurious, decadent, between my fingers, but I’m not surprised given who the
is from. Club Rapture doesn’t do things by halves, or so I’ve heard.
I hold in my hand a coveted invite to one of the most exclusive clubs in the country, hell, in the
whole fucking world. And I know I should feel excitement, but I don’t. In fact, I feel nothing at all as I
look over the words telling me to expect a night like no other, that all my darkest desires will come
true if only I’m brave enough to let my inhibitions go.
But I’ve already embraced the darkness inside me. My father ensured I did that a long fucking
time ago. And I’ve yet to find anyone who can handle what I crave when I’m uninhibited.
Never mind the fact that I know this is just another of his tests. The great Tomaso Amante, leader
of the Amante branch of the Cosa Nostra. My father and the devil incarnate. The man who has spent
his life trying to mold me into the perfect heir, the perfect monster to take over from him when the
time comes.
Most days, I know he’s succeeded.
“You got one too?” Saul asks, and my dead heart thuds painfully when I look up and capture his
blue eyes, the eyes of our mother. Just like hers, they’re full of pain and sadness. A twinge of
something sharp pokes me in the chest. I’m responsible for that look.
“Yes.”
“A test?” he asks, but we both know the answer.
“Probably.”
“At least maybe we’ll get some decent pussy out of this one.”
I shrug. “Perhaps.”
He flushes, anger coloring his cheeks and flashing in his eyes, making the orbs turn the blue of the
center of a flame. Hot enough to consume you. And I can’t blame him. I’d be mad too if it was me.
Instead, I’m just numb.
“You don’t have to be like him all the fucking time!” he roars, his body shaking with the rage I
know he suppresses most days. “Jesus, you’re so fucking cold. I bet you couldn’t even get it up for a
perfect pussy, and even if you did, you wouldn’t feel a fucking thing,” he sneers.
The barbs sting, bleeding me on the inside until I’m drowning in his hate for me. He elicits a
reaction that no other can, reminding me I’m not as numb as I pretend. Not when it comes to my
younger brother.
“You’re hardly without fault, brother,” I counter, what’s left of my soul screaming at me to stop.
To fall at his feet and beg forgiveness for the crimes of our father. Crimes I was too weak to prevent.
“You’re just as fucked up as I am, maybe even more so.”
He flinches, and that sharp pain in my chest flares. I’m good at inflicting pain on my kin.
“And whose fault is that, brother?” He steps in close, his heaving, shirt-covered chest brushing
mine with each inhale, his face so close I can see the hatred in his eyes as he takes me in with a look
of utter contempt. “That’s right—you. Our father hurt me because of you. Because he couldn’t hurt his
precious heir, but his spare, well, I always was the expendable one.” His lip curls upward. Then he
takes a step back, spitting at my feet before spinning on his polished heel and walking away.
I watch him, my stomach churning and my throat thick with a lump that no amount of swallowing
will eliminate.
 Self-loathing coats my insides until I’m covered in a choking fog of it, clinging to me like tar. My
body trembles as the walls close in, and my chest tingles with a tightness that never goes away.
“Hey, you okay, man?” Esau asks, stepping out of the shadows that fill the corners of the
penthouse that I call home. That we call home. His hand comes down on my shoulder gently, and it’s
enough to ground me.
“Fine,” I choke out, my voice rasping with all the pent-up anger and desolation that swirls inside
of me.
“Liar,” he comments, his tone light as he steps closer, moving his hand and replacing it with his
chin. His arms come up around me, pulling me close to him until I can feel every hard line of his
body. I take the comfort he’s offering, melting into his embrace as I do with no other. Saul isn’t the
only one who can make me feel. “It’s not your fault, Cain.”
I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, my eyes sting, and I repeatedly swallow.
“Yes, it is,” I reply, my voice a broken thing I wouldn’t let anyone else hear and live afterward.
Before he can answer, I step away from him, immediately missing the warmth of his touch. “Did you
get an invitation?” I ask, turning to look behind me, and I’m caught by his beauty, as I am every time I
see him.
Esau has the face of a fucking angel; baby blue eyes with thick, blond brows, long, curled hair that
he wears in a man bun, and a firm, square jaw. His plump lips turn down in a frown, and I know just
how kissable those lips of his are. And how good they feel wrapped around my cock.
“Smooth change of subject, but yes, I got one. Korah too.”
I should punish him for his sass, but I won’t. I never do, especially when he stands there looking
like he just fell from Heaven in his ripped, stonewashed jeans, a tight, white tank top, and bracelets
decorating both wrists. My father would have him whipped for his lack of suit and tie, but there are
some differences between that man and me.
“We have two weeks to prepare for whatever fucking test my father has in store for us.” I sigh,
suddenly tired to my very soul. I scrub my palm over my face, the stubble rough against my skin.
“Well,” Esau drawls, and I open my eyes to watch him close the gap between us, his bare feet
silent on the tiled floor. “I suggest we start by loosening you up a little.”
Esau may have the face of an angel, but the salacious, manic gleam in his baby blues is all from
the fiery pits. There’s a wildness to him that draws me like a moth to a flame. He’s a temptation that I
fought tooth and nail not to give into until, one night, he climbed into my bed and gave me the best
damn head of my life while I held the barrel of a loaded gun to his temple, safety off.
“Esau . . .” I groan, unable to stop him as he sinks to his knees and reaches for my belt.
“Yes, boss?” he asks, blinking up at me. It would be believable if that crazed light in his eyes
wasn’t sparkling like the blue sapphires my father keeps in the family safe.
What I’m about to say next catches in my throat as he palms me through my slacks, and my mind
goes utterly blank when he unfastens the belt, then my button and zipper.
I watch the mischief that crosses his features as he takes in my shirt, which hangs over the front of
my bulging boxer briefs. “Esau—” I begin, my tone a warning that, of course, he fucking ignores as he
takes each side of my shirt in his hands and pulls the garment, sending buttons flying everywhere and
pinging across the tiles. My nostrils flare, but he knows me too well, and quicker than I can scold
him, he frees my shaft and encases the swollen head with his pillowy lips.
Jesus fucking Christ.
My hand comes up to tear out the tie holding his bun, wrapping his long hair around my fist as I
guide him deeper, the sensation of his pierced tongue massaging the underside of my shaft making my
knees go weak. I watch, enraptured, as he sinks lower, tears tracing down his cheeks as I hit the back
of his throat. Still, he takes me, and my nerves set on fire when he swallows, his throat convulsing
around my length.
“That’s what that smart mouth of yours needs, doesn’t it, angel?” I snarl, snapping my hips
forward so his lips touch the base of me, and I know he can’t draw a full breath. He gurgles around
my dick, delicious tingles racing down to my balls with the noises.
Just as his vision must dot with black spots, I sharply pull him off, a long line of saliva stringing
from my tip to his open lips. His chest heaves, his fingers digging into my thighs as he glances up at
me, his blue eyes sparkling like jewels as he begs me with his gaze.
“More, please, boss.”
And I smirk, my grip on his long locks tightening until he winces.
“I’m going to fuck that pretty boy mouth of yours until you choke on my dick and almost pass out
from the lack of oxygen. And you’ll take it like the good little dog you are, won’t you,” I tell him. The
end is less of a question and more of a demand.
“Yes, boss,” he replies, his voice low, his pupils blown.
I use my free hand to gently stroke down the side of his cheek. “Good boy.”
Using my tight grip on his hair, I guide his lips back to my head, groaning when he takes me in his
mouth once more. The metal in his tongue massages the underside of my shaft again, quivers of
electricity racing through my body from the sheer pleasure that he's giving me.
“Fuck—” I gasp as he goes deeper, sucking harder and taking me exactly as I crave. Hard, fast,
and brutal.
One of his hands leaves my thigh, cupping my balls and squeezing until my knees threaten to
buckle. I thrust my hips forward and back, fucking his mouth as I promised I would. He gags, the
sound filling the room and driving me higher, my climax closer as my body trembles and shudders.
“Shit—Angel!” I shout, driving my hips forward while pushing his head down as I pour hot cum
down his throat. I hold him steady, his own body twitching as I deny him oxygen with my dick. My
entire body prickles, like needles raking across my skin, and it's the best fucking feeling I've had all
damn day.
He goes slack, and I pull him off me, his chest heaving as hard as mine when he takes a huge
inhale. Using my grip on his hair, I pull him upward, slamming my lips on his swollen mouth, tasting a
heady mix of his saliva and my release as I tongue-fuck him.
“Good boy,” I whisper again against his lips, pressing a final, gentle kiss on them. Pulling away, I
look down to see that his crotch is damp with his own release. Satisfaction makes my veins sizzle
from the effect I have on this beautiful man. “I'll let you off this time, angel,” I tell him, looking up into
those crystalline eyes and seeing the smirk that's pulling up his freshly fucked mouth.
“Thank you, boss,” he teases, his tone sassy as usual. I should reprimand him, but I don’t.
Movement in the doorway makes my head snap up, and I release a breath when I see it's only
Korah, my cousin, and not my father. He'd have both our hides if he discovered my relationship with
Esau. He's one of those “beat the gay out of you” homophobes. And they call me a monster.
“Find Saul,” I command the silent giant, noting his usual black attire. “We're leaving in ten to meet
with our contact.”
He nods, remaining closed-lipped, as always. He hasn't spoken a word since we took him in
fourteen years ago. Not a single fucking syllable. Though it's not surprising, given the circumstances
of his initiation into this fucked-up family. We really are monsters; it was an initiation for me too. A
choice that was no choice at all. Death was going to claim at least one soul that night, and I couldn’t
let it be mine. Though, sometimes, I wish it had been.
Korah just nods again, turning around and walking back out the door in search of my brother. I
heave a sigh thinking about my sibling, wondering, will I ever mend the gulf between us? Or will our
father’s abuse forever separate us?
Two
REVELRY
“Y ou will be their every desire, Revelry. Every fucking desire.”
Inwardly, his words, smooth as a blade on silk, still make me flinch. But on the outside, I’m
poised—like a delicate swan calmly gliding over the water of what is my desperate fucking life. He
leans back in his seat, dark eyes raking over me like burned coal. I’m wearing white for him, a dress
with an elegant cut that hugs my hips and sweeps down to the floor. There are diamonds in my ears,
the ones he gave me.
“Now, show me what that beautiful mouth can do.”
Show no fear.
I give the barest nod, looking up at him from under my lashes as I kneel between his legs. The rich
material of his trousers feels harsh under my palms as they slide to his waistband. The leather belt is
stiff as I undo it, the scent of it hitting my nose the same as his rich, heavy cologne.
He does this every month—the day before we open for the big event—to check on me, to see if I
still have the innocence in my eyes that he craves when I go down on him.
I don’t, but I can fake it. I’ve been faking it my entire life. I learned long ago that men love to take
that purity in their hands and crush it while the heart is still beating, the blood is pumping, and the
adrenaline is spiking.
And they want to own it, keep it, cage it.
So they can do it over and over again.
He’s done it so many times to me, but I don’t break or let the bitterness show. I bend, like one of
those geishas I’ve read about. I let him think he’s in control when I’m the one coiled around his heart
—or should I say, dick.
After unzipping, I reach into his trousers and pull out his cock. It’s big in my hands, meaty even.
My owner has always been well-endowed. It used to scare me when I was younger, but now I see it
as just another part of him I hate, though my face and hands will never convey that. I look into his
black eyes, full of evil and darkness, and give him a soft smile. Then I take his cock in my mouth and
use it to tease him. He prefers it when I lick the tip first, hungry for his taste before gliding my lips
down his shaft, dragging the length over my tongue. No teeth, though. He hates that.
Rough hands thread through my hair, locking around handfuls.
Wait for it.
Ripping at the roots, he hauls me to the hilt, seeking to choke me. Don’t struggle. Let him have
control. Taking him completely is the only way to avoid pain, so I do, and when he’s all the way in,
ramming the back of my throat, I close my eyes. His spicy, masculine aroma, the bitter taste, and the
thickness of his shaft—I shut it out and focus only on the job he’s given me.
Pleasing him.
“That’s it. Let me fuck that mouth of yours.” His voice is harsh in my ears as I blink back tears,
and it takes all my effort to suck and breathe.
I focus on moving up and down as he fucks my mouth, keeping my lips tight and my tongue greedy.
If I’m too fast, he’ll come early and make me do something worse to satisfy his depraved cravings. If
I’m too slow, he’ll fly into a rage. I’ve learned to do my job well enough that he won’t want anything
more afterward. This isn’t about his pleasure but the act of sin, of my suffering and humiliation. This
is about power.
 He owns me.
I need to remember that.
Trying hard not to gag when he finally finishes, I swallow him like a good little girl. His bitter-
tasting cum coats the back of my throat. It’s like gulping for air when you’re drowning.
I wait to be released, eyes downcast, fist clenched in the folds of my dress where he can’t see.
My one defiance. There’s the sound of him zipping his trousers back up. Seconds later, he grabs me
by the chin, yanking me up to look at him. Our eyes meet, and I quickly slide a mask of calm in place,
the one he’s schooled me into over the years. It used to hide fear. Now it conceals all the hatred and
disgust festering inside me for him and his poisonous family.
“Did you enjoy that, mi tesoro?” he asks, voice soft and dangerous, fingers and thumb digging into
my chin.
“I loved every minute of it,” I breathe, staring back into his eyes.
His gaze takes me in, searching for lies in my words. I know what he sees . . . with my messy hair,
wet eyes, and tacky mouth stained with his smell, I’m no longer perfect. He enjoys seeing me messed
up because of what he did. I’m grateful he hasn’t ejaculated on my face. He likes to do it so everyone
knows who I belong to, not allowing me to clean it off until he leaves.
At that thought, the muscle in my jaw tightens, which is always a mistake.
Too late.
He frowns, upper lip becoming a snarl. “You are a little liar.”
I don’t reply. Instead, I slacken my mouth to lick my lips, blinking rapidly as my heart rockets
inside my chest. My mind flies to dark places as he drags me to my feet and spins me around to sit on
his lap. As his arm locks around my waist, holding me in place, I think of the porn I was watching
earlier—imagining men pleasuring me for once, tasting me, teasing me, making me come. His hand
gropes under my dress and shoves roughly between my legs.
“You’d better be fucking drenched,” he hisses in my ear.
I shut my eyes and suck in a breath, thinking of every fucking thing I know turns me on. It’s a short
list.
Sharp, probing fingers slip inside me, seeking wetness.
And . . . he finds it.
Just.
He jabs at the moisture gathering between my folds with a satisfied grunt. Against my desire, his
fingers brush my clit, making me squirm. He doesn’t like that.
“Go get yourself fucking cleaned up.” He shoves me off his lap, onto the floor, and leaves.
It takes me several minutes to tidy my hair, wipe away the dark smudges of makeup around my
eyes, and rinse out my mouth. My pulse is still racing, as it always does after his visit. Even my hands
shake when I try to reapply my makeup, so I give up and exit the VIP room he dragged me into earlier,
the one set aside for his visits, and head to the Rapture’s main floor. The darkness swallows me
whole, soothing the skittery, nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I was lucky this time.
If Tomaso had found me dry . . .
Phoenix walks by me with a tray of drinks. I take one, and she shakes her platinum blonde hair at
me in annoyance.
“If Jed sees you with that,” she hisses through lips shining with pink gloss, hesitating only when
taking in my attire.
I don’t usually dress this nicely, so she knows he’s here just by looking at me and that I’m not
working. Tomaso often loans me out to his friends and their clubs . . . for training, apparently, and this
is the club I frequent the most. But tonight, I’m Tomaso Amante’s guest—the club’s biggest client and
a good friend to the owner. I can drink the three-hundred-dollars-a-bottle champagne if I want. And if
I can’t, I don’t give a fuck. After my time with him earlier, I don’t care much about anything.
Still, I don’t want Phoenix to get into trouble because of me, so I knock the glass back quickly. It’s
ice-cold, fizzing up my senses, pulling me awake. I’m meant to be attending to Tomaso, but I’m thirsty.
Tired and fucking thirsty. Plus, I need to wash the taste of his sin out of my mouth.
I’m so over this shit.
I put the glass back on the tray, ignoring the slight tremor in my hand as I do, and smile sweetly at
Phoenix. “There. Jed won’t see fuck all.”
Phoenix sighs. “It’s fine. I’ll refill that one.”
I have nothing to add, so I stifle another yawn.
She narrows her baby-blue eyes at me. “Did you even get any sleep?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” I reply with a shrug. Until early this morning, I was with another
client—a high roller, one of Tomaso’s friends, who wanted all-night entertainment. I’m good at
making men feel special, so I’m always in demand. Dance. Strip. Seduce. Fuck. Give them a night to
remember.
My stage name is Revelry, after all.
“We’re opening up in like five fucking minutes,” Jed calls over when he sees us just standing
there.
I ignore him.
Phoenix glances the floor manager’s way. “Shit, I need to go.”
I place a hand on her slender arm before she can walk off. “Wait. Have you seen the guest list for
event night?”
I’ve been wanting to ask her since Jed was bragging about the clients that may show up to Sin’s
most exclusive event—A Night of Sin & Corruption. Sometimes it’s all hush-hush. This night is going
to be like that. Tomaso is never here on the event nights. Never. But I am, and I have no idea who will
walk through those doors. The extra layer of unpredictability it adds to my already-unpredictable life
makes me nervous.
“The invites for the big night have already been sent out.”
“I know that. Do you know who is on it?”
“Not this time, although I heard it’s someone important,” she admits.
“Can you find out?”
“Are you shitting me?” she grits out. She must be tired, like we all are from always having things
asked of us and never getting anything in return.
I give her a puppy dog look. “Please, I need to know.”
She sighs. “I’ll see what Jed knows.”
I nod at her.
It’s the only night when the club will be chaotic with new faces, mostly wearing masks, until late
into the following day. Security will be focused on who’s coming in, not who’s leaving. It’ll be the
perfect time for me to slip out the door. I have a new fake ID waiting and a ride to the next state
bargained for. No one will notice I’ve gone until long after it’s too late.
But every time I think about it, excitement tinged with dread surges through me, simultaneously
making me sick and hot. Anything could go wrong. I’ve been planning my escape for years and can’t
afford any fuck-ups.
 “Phoenix, are you bringing the fucking champagne or what?” Jed shouts, causing our heads to
whip around to where he’s watching us from the roped-off area. His eyes shift to me, but he doesn’t
say anything. He wouldn’t dare. Not when Tomaso is around somewhere.
Phoenix rolls her eyes and walks off to the VIP area I just came from, her tiny body swaying with
a seductive swing of her hips. She’s one of the few people working here who gets paid to be here, so
I trust her to be able to get the list from Jed. Others have debts they’re working off and would be too
fucking scared.
I’m the only one with no debt or pay, although, they don’t know that.
I have no idea what they think of me.
If only they knew I am owned.
My life has never been my own, nor my body. I was stolen as a child, forced into this life, but I
can’t tell the other girls that. It would make them nervous. They think this place is legit, and on the
outside, it is. But there’s a darker, more depraved side to Club Rapture.
The night goes slowly, too slowly. Tomaso is too busy with his meetings to need me for anything
more, so I swipe another couple of drinks off Phoenix’s trays to get me through the last few hours. Jed
sees, but he’s too much of a pussy to touch me. Tomaso would eviscerate Jed if he so much as laid a
finger on me, but that doesn’t stop the slimy prick from staring. If he can’t fuck me himself, he’ll
watch. There are hidden cameras in all the private rooms. Jed will probably jerk himself off to the
footage later, and there’s nothing I can do about that.
There are probably thousands of tapes with me in them that I’ll never be able to find, never mind
get rid of. But one day, I’ll burn this place, and all the others I’ve worked at, to the ground. Then I’ll
go to the Amante family home—where I grew up, where all my nightmares began—and I’ll reduce it
to ash, destroying it all.
And if Tomaso and his family happen to be inside when I do . . .
Then I won’t hesitate to revel in that.
Three
SAUL
A sigh falls from my lips as I snort the white powder, the high hitting my bloodstream with a rush
that I crave. My head falls back as my eyes close, and I let the rays of the dying sun caress my
skin like a skilled lover, but it can’t warm the cold organ that lives in my chest, can’t kick-start my
heart that died a long fucking time ago.
Perhaps it was the day I turned seven that launched the death of me. I can still remember bouncing
from foot to foot as I waited outside my father’s office, Cain at my side.

“Come in, Saul. Cain.”

He’s standing in the doorway, eyes dark and tailored suit pristine. A gold chain glints in the
sunlight that pours in from the large windows lining the walls of our mansion, and his gold Rolex
peeks through his sleeve when he indicates the open doorway with his arm.
Cain has begun to dress more and more like Father; pressed pants and button-ups, no creases.
Father gave him his own gold chain when he turned ten a couple of months ago, and it makes him
look so much older.
I wonder if Father will give me one today?
We enter the darkened room, the heavy drapes pulled closed and only a single lamp on so that
darkness surrounds us. A shiver runs down my spine, and I yearn for the sun, which is shining
brightly outside.
“Close the door, Lib,” my father orders his second.
Lib is a giant of a man. Mean too, with a scary glint in his small eyes. He’s everything one
would look for in a protector of the leader of the Amante branch of the Cosa Nostra.
“As you know, Saul,” Father continues, turning his back and walking toward one of the vast
bookshelves, “turning seven is an important milestone in a boy’s journey to becoming a man.” His
arm moves, and then my jaw drops as the entire shelf slides behind the bookcase next to it.
“Especially so, as a second born like yourself.” I look at Cain, but he has a strange expression on
his face, his brow creased while he watches our father step into the gloom beyond the opening.
“Follow me, boys,” Father adds, and suddenly, there’s heat behind me as Lib crowds us.
My heart pounding, I step forward, only for Cain to step in front of me and stride toward the
secret passage. He always has to come first, and my jaw clenches at the injustice of him doing this
on my birthday!
I stumble as I’m shoved from behind, my head whipping around to bare my teeth at Lib.
“Get moving, boy,” he growls out, and the gleam in his eyes sends unease flooding through me,
my stomach quivering.
I turn back around and walk cautiously toward the dark hole in the wall...
Blinking, I return to the roof of the building I’m sitting atop, the last of the sun’s rays desperate to
touch the sky.
Fuck.
Tapping another hit of snow onto the back of my hand, I try in vain to stem the flow of memories
seeking to assault me. But it’s no use, the white powder seeming to open my mind more and allowing
me to be dragged under once again.
 “What is this place, Father?” I hear Cain ask as I enter the windowless room. It’s bare, apart
from a wooden cupboard against one wall.
“A place of enlightenment, son,” our father replies, and as he steps aside, I see a
wooden...something in the middle of the floor. “Saul, shirt off and come over here.”
I obey immediately, unbuttoning my shirt and placing it carefully on a wooden table near the
doorway. My body trembles as the cold air cascades over my skin, and a lump forms in the pit of
my stomach, making every step feel heavy and dragging.
My father’s hand lands on my shoulder once I step up next to him, and it takes all my effort not
to flinch. He doesn’t like it when we show any weakness, any fear.
“Do you know what this is, Saul?” he asks me, using his grip to steer me around the object. It’s
an upright frame with a plank across it, and there are three holes in the plank, the one in the
middle larger than the ones on either side of it, plus a padlock at one end. There’s also a wooden
box on the ground on the other side of it.
“I don’t know, father.”
“That’s okay, son. I shall tell you. This is a room of enlightenment, after all,” he says, his tone
soothing as we come to a stop directly in front of the box. “This is what’s known as a pillory,
something that used to be found in villages and towns all over England and Wales,” he tells us,
reaching out his free hand and stroking the wood. “They were also known as whipping posts, and
this one has been in our family since your great-grandfather’s time.”
My heart hammers in my chest, the hair on my nape and arms lifting as the last phrase tumbles
over and over in my mind.
Whipping post.
“And why are you showing it to us, father?” Cain asks, and I look up to see his face ashen, his
fists clamped tightly by his sides.
My father’s grip on my shoulder digs in, and I have to bite my lip hard to stop from
whimpering. No weakness.
“Because, Cain, you need to learn what it means to be a leader. And Saul needs to learn what it
is to follow orders and take the punishments that you, as heir, cannot.”
“P–punishments?” I question, unable to hide the stutter, even though I know it will anger my
father. I look up at him and see his jaw tick. He turns his head to scowl down at me, and I swallow
hard at the way his dark eyes have become hard and unyielding.
“As my brother was for me, you shall be the whipping boy for Cain,” he says, turning me to
face him fully and placing his free hand on my other shoulder. “I cannot punish Cain for his
wrongdoings and missteps, as he is heir. But, as you are the second son, you can be punished in his
place.”
My eyes bounce between his, trying to read them. There’s no fatherly love or affection in their
depths. Only determination and a need to preserve family tradition.
“Father!” Cain shouts, and both of our heads snap to see him striding toward us.
“You would disobey me and add to your brother’s lashes?” Father asks, and Cain stops dead in
his tracks, his chest heaving.
“I’ll take my own lashes, like a man,” my brother says, tilting his chin up.
I blink, just to make sure that this isn’t some sort of nightmare. But when my eyes open, Cain is
still standing there, and my father is still holding onto me.
“That’s not how this works, Cain,” Father tells him, turning back toward me and dismissing
Cain. “You want to become a man, don’t you, Saul?”
 “Yes, sir,” I reply, my whole body trembling.
“Then, you know what you need to do.”
His eyes bore into mine, and all I can see is darkness, no light in their depths. It takes every
ounce of effort that I possess, but I give him a nod, unable to utter the words. Feeling his hands
fall away, I step up onto the box, hesitating.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say quietly, staring at the plank and trying not to think about what
will happen once I’m secured. We’ve had an unusual upbringing, and I know exactly what
whipping entails. My father started our unique education on various ways to torture a person last
year, and we have both seen firsthand what damage a whip can do.
“Here,” he says, taking a key from his pants pocket and unlocking the padlock. He hands that
to Lib and then opens the top half of the plank. “Your head goes in the middle hole, hands on
either side.”
Inhaling shaking gulps of air, I follow his instructions, feeling the hardwood against my neck
and wrists. I’m glad of the wooden block; I wouldn’t be able to reach it otherwise, and I’d end up
choking. I jolt when I feel the wood clamp around my limbs, and I can’t stop the tremors that rack
my body.
“Father, please,” Cain pleads, and I glance over to see his eyes glistening.
“Amantes don’t beg,” my father responds harshly.
I hear the shuffle of fabric, Lib stepping out of view and returning with my father’s suit jacket
carefully folded over his arm. My short, sharp breaths sound loud in my ears as I wait, my whole
body shaking with anticipation of the hurt that I know will come.
My brother and I are no strangers to pain. Our education included learning to fight in order to
protect ourselves and our family.
“As it’s your seventh birthday, you’ll get seven lashes,” my father tells me. “Cain, do you
remember when you pleaded with me to take in that street rat?”
Cain frowns, blinking rapidly for a few moments. Then his eyes widen as understanding dawns.
“Esau.”
“Yes, Esau. Well, as sure as I am that he will one day be an asset to The Family, you showed
weakness in front of our men. Amantes never show weakness.”
A whistle in the air and Cain’s parted lips are the only warning I get before fire races across
my back in a sharp line that burns like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can’t help the scream that
leaves my mouth, high-pitched and agonized.
I look through soaked lashes to see Cain lurch forward, only to have Lib’s hand clamp down on
his shoulder.
The next few minutes blur together in a haze of agony. At some stage, I can’t even scream, my
voice a broken sound that hurts coming out. But nothing can compare to my back, and by the way
warm wetness trickles down my skin, I know I’m bleeding.
“You did well, son,” my father praises, coming to stand in front of me. He crouches down,
gently taking my face in his hands and placing a kiss on each tear-stained cheek. “Next time, try to
be quieter, yes?”
“Y–y–yes, s–sir,” I stutter out, my voice a whisper.
“That’s my boy.” He lets go of my face, standing up and turning toward the door. “Ah, Saffron.
Come here.” I don’t have the energy to show my surprise at Saffron suddenly being here. She’s the
same age as me, the daughter of some woman who owed Father a debt and gave Saffron in
exchange when we were four years old. “It will be your job from now on to care for Saul after his
enlightenment. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies, her voice soft. It sounds thick too, like she’s holding back tears.
“Good girl. Lib, we have work to do. Cain, you’ll come with me.” And I hear the click of their
heels on the concrete floor as they walk away.
“S–Saul?” Saffron asks, and she drops to her knees, seeking my face, which hangs down. “Oh
god, Saul, what has he done?”
I lift my lids, unable to move my head without pain searing across my back, and her face swims
into view, her cheeks damp and chin wobbling.
“H–help me out, will you?” I rasp out, and she takes in a deep breath, getting to her feet and
coming around to the side of the pillory.
The pressure on my limbs releases, but I’m still unable to move, my knees locked in an attempt
to stop me from falling to the ground. Suddenly my arm jostles, and a small, wounded cry falls
from my lips.
“I know it hurts,” she murmurs, placing my arm over her slender shoulders. “But we need to
get you somewhere so I can help you.”
I cry hot tears as she helps me out of the wooden contraption, both of us nearly falling when
I’m finally free. But Saffron, our little flower, is stronger than she looks and keeps us both upright.
We make slow progress, each step a lesson in anguish.
My vision is swimming with black dots by the time we reach the kitchen, and I can feel the dots
trying to connect and drag me into the darkness, where there is no pain.
“Just a little farther, Saul,” Saffron’s soft voice whispers in my ear. “Martha!” she cries, an
edge of panic to her tone.
“Oh, Saul,” Martha, our cook, says, and I can’t even raise my hanging head to look up at her.
“I prayed he wouldn’t continue this. George, come and help poor Saffron. Put him in my room.”
A tormented whimper falls from my lips as George, the family butler, gently lifts me up. The
move is too much and I black out, only to come around lying on my stomach on Martha’s bed. She
has a room near the kitchen in order to cater to our needs, day or night.
I hiss as something swipes over my back, blinking my eyes to see Saffron dabbing it with a
cloth. Her cheeks are damp, and Martha stands behind her, giving her instructions and
encouragement. Saffron’s emerald eyes find mine, and I see all the distress shining brightly within
them.
“I–I’ll b–be okay,” I whisper, and a sob sounds in her chest.
“How, Saul? Martha told me she looked after your uncle each time after his ‘enlightenment.’”
She practically spits the last word, showing me how disgusted she is with the whole situation.
“This is going to happen again.”
“I–I know.” My voice is scratchy, the words hurting my torn-up throat as they pass. Martha
grabs hold of a cup with a straw, crouching down and bringing it to my lips.
“Honey, lemon, and ginger. Will help ease the pain in your throat,” she tells me, and I take a
sip of the warm liquid. I sigh as it soothes my ravaged throat. “There are also some painkillers in
there to help your back and a light sedative.” I try to give her a smile, but the muscles on my face
just won’t comply, and her chin wobbles as tears fill her eyes. “Sleep now, bambino.”
My eyelids grow heavy as I stare into her kind, honey-brown eyes, and eventually, the darkness
pulls me under...
Four
SAUL
F ucking hell, I hate being dragged into the past.
I scrub my hands over my face, the scruff that I allow to grow on my jaw rough under my
palms. I mostly go unshaven because it annoys Cain. He’s such a fucking control freak.
“Saul!”
Speak the devil’s name and he appears. I glance over my shoulder to the door that leads up to the
roof, and there he stands in all his Nosa Costra glory. He’s more like our father these days than he
was back then, a fucking clone. I’ll never be able to compete with his crisp suits and gold chains,
rings, and watch. The sun has fully set now, and only the light from the stairwell highlights him like a
fucking halo.
“Yes?” I ask, heaving a sigh as I get to my feet close to the edge of the building. I smirk when the
skin around his mouth tightens; annoying my older brother is one of my favorite pastimes.
“It’s time to get ready. We’re expected at Rapture by nine forty-five.” He takes a step onto the
roof, and although he moves with a loose grace, I can see his muscles coiled tightly, ready to pounce.
My grin gets wider. “One moment, brother.” Ignoring the irritated huff, I turn to face the horizon
once again. “Have you ever considered ending it all?” I ask, my voice soft as I gaze at the drop,
calculating the distance, the breeze tickling my skin.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Saul?”
“Leaving behind all the bullshit. All the drama. All the pain.”
“Saul—” he starts, but I hear nothing else as I throw myself off the roof.
“SAUL!!!!”
A wild laugh falls from my lips as I tuck my head, bring my knees up and grab them, rolling in
midair. The wind batters my face, moisture leaking from my eyes as I fall through the air with more
freedom in this moment than I’ve ever experienced in my life. In a split second, I’m unfurling, landing
nimbly on my feet and immediately rolling across the roof a couple of hundred feet below ours.
There’s also a big fucking gap between our roof and this one that could have seen me splatting on the
sidewalk below like a jar of jam.
I pop up, grinning, and spin around to look back at Cain, who’s gripping the edge of our roof
where I was standing a moment ago. A lump forms in my throat at the expression of sheer panic that
has left the whites of his eyes showing. But I refuse to let remorse take root, shrugging it off with a
self-deprecating laugh.
“Be right there, brother!” I yell, watching as rage darkens his cheeks, and he tightens his grip.
Not giving him time to say anything else, I turn on my heel and saunter away toward the door that
leads to the main building, my gait loose from the adrenaline rush that is pouring through me. I
cracked the lock weeks ago when I first made the jump.
He just doesn’t get it. Sometimes, you need the brush of death to feel alive.

I pull my collar away from my neck for what feels like the hundredth time. The black mask on my face
is suffocating, and I wish with all my fucked-up soul that I was back on my roof, feeling the breeze in
my hair.
A hand tugs mine away.
“You’ll wrinkle it, and Tomaso will be pissed,” Esau tells me, and I bare my teeth at the softness
in his blue eyes.
“Fuck off, Esau,” I snarl, shuffling as much as the limo will allow.
“We’re here,” Cain interrupts, knowing that I’m in a combative mood and will take Esau down
with me. The memory of my first whipping is still too raw, the reason for my pain sitting next to and
across from me.
The door opens and I rush out, gulping the semi-fresh air.
Looking upwards, the black-painted concrete seems to swallow the night around us, and a shiver
traces along my spine at the sight of the unassuming building, nothing to tell you about the debauchery
that clearly goes on inside.
We approach the red-painted double doors, the light glinting off the gold handles and frame, the
number twenty-two also in gold on the right-hand side. Two burly doormen guard the entrance like
sentinels, arms held in the stereotypical doorman pose, one hand clasping the opposite wrist.
“Invitations,” Meathead One asks in a gruff voice, holding his hand out.
Cain—obviously—is the first to hand him his invite, and after checking it over, Meathead One
gives a brisk nod, handing him a bright green bracelet and allowing my brother entry. Esau goes next
with Meathead Two while Korah hands his invite to the first guy. Both get waved through, green
bracelets handed over. Then, it’s my turn.
“So, you come here often?” I ask Meathead One, who doesn’t even glance at me as he scans the
invite with his beady eyes. Sighing, I try again, unable to help poking this bear. “They teach you to
read at doorman school?”
The words barely pass my lips before I’m being thrown into the wall next to the door, a meaty
hand wrapped around my throat and squeezing hard.
“What the fuck did you say, punk?” he seethes, the veins bulging in his bald head.
Why are doormen always bald? I rasp out a laugh, the adrenaline giving me the rush I crave like
my next breath.
Faster than he can follow, I whip the gun that I carry everywhere out of its holster in the small of
my back and point the barrel at his temple.
“I have to question your reading ability even more now, because if you’d read my invitation,
you’d have seen that the name was Saul Amante, and you should know that I’m the second fucking son
to Don Tomaso.” I watch with a sick satisfaction as his skin pales, his grip loosening and finally
falling away. “Now, tell me why I shouldn’t just shoot you right here and now for the insult you’ve
caused, hmm?”
“I–um–I—” he sputters, and my upper lip curls.
“You’re fucking lucky that the Feds are always on our ass. Otherwise, your buddy over there
would get pretty lonesome tonight.”
“Th–thank you, Mr. Amante,” he babbles, and I shake my head.
“Fucking pussy,” I mutter, tucking my piece away and smoothing my suit and mask back into place.
I saunter toward the door, Meathead One handing me my invitation and bracelet with a trembling
hand.
“Saul—” Cain starts, his tone admonishing, his dark eyes flashing behind his own matching, black
half-mask. “Was that really necessary?”
I turn my gaze to him, narrowing my eyes. “‘An Amante doesn’t tolerate weaklings or wastes of
oxygen,’” I quote, and he flinches, which makes me grin wide. It’s something our father liked to
remind us when he was beating the ever-loving shit out of me.
“Let’s just go in, okay?” Esau pleads, his hand twitching toward Cain’s. He wouldn’t dare take it
in public, not where it could get back to my father. Korah remains silent, as he has ever since he came
to us at thirteen years old, fourteen years ago now.
“Fine,” Cain snaps, pulling down his cuffs and turning on his heel to walk toward the doors that I
assume lead to the foyer.
Esau gives me a wide-eyed, can-you-just-stay-the-fuck-out-of-trouble-for-one-fucking-minute
look, and I return it with a feral smile, shrugging my shoulders. He rolls his eyes, turning to follow my
brother through the doors, leaving me with our cousin.
“After you, chatterbox,” I say, holding out an arm to show that he goes first.
The ghost of a smile twitches his lips at my nickname for him, something my eight-year-old self
thought was really fucking funny given that he doesn’t talk. He seems to think it’s amusing too. But he
shakes his head, folding his arms and telling me without words that I go first. He’s been our protector
ever since he came, and he looks fierce tonight with half of his face covered.
Shaking my head at the big guy, who is easily twice my fucking size and pure muscle, I walk
ahead, pushing through the doors into a plush reception room that is all about the mood lighting.
There’s a large lounge area, with a long bar against the back wall, brushed metal stools lining it.
A variety of plush couches dot the rest of the room, all in different jewel tones, and color me
impressed. It’s pretty fucking swanky.
Scantily-clad staff walk around carrying iPads, and there seem to be a few guests here already.
The buzz from the snow I snorted earlier fading, I stride over to the bar.
“Vodka. Black label. Straight,” I order, and the pretty barmaid bats her lashes, flashing me
startling baby blues as she sees to my drink. I watch as she walks away, her high heels accentuating
long legs. I wonder if she’s on the menu tonight; I wouldn’t be opposed to having some fun with this
little pixie.
“Drinking already?” Esau asks, and I raise a brow at the judgmental tone he uses.
“Hey, darlin’?” I holler, and the petite woman spins, allowing us a glimpse of her skintight dress
that sparkles under the lights. “Make it a double, sweetheart.”
“Sure thing, darling.”
Esau sighs, taking the stool next to mine. “Saul, why do you insist on sabotaging yourself?”
I wait for the pretty piece of ass to serve my drink. She looks at Esau, who waves her off, so she
sashays away to serve someone else.
“Do you know when I first became Cain’s whipping boy?” I ask, voice low and full of menace.
My earlier flashback is too fresh for me to completely hold it together.
“On your seventh birthday,” he answers softly, and I glance to the side to see his pretty mouth
turned down in a frown, as if he’s in pain. I can see why my brother finds him attractive. Under the
mask, he really has the face of an angel, and unfortunately for him, the heart and soul of one too.
“And do you know the reason I got that whipping? The infraction that Cain was being punished
for?”
Silence.
“No.”
I reach out to push away the curl that has fallen over his eyes.
“It was because of you, sweet angel.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, and a knot forms in my
stomach at spilling this secret that we’ve kept from him for so long. But I can’t stop the hurtful words
as they fall from my lips, stinging on the way out. “In front of his men, Cain asked Father to take you
in, showing mercy. That’s what earned me my first lashes. You joining our family.”
He shoots up from his seat, his eyes glistening and making the blue shine like Mother’s prized
sapphires. “N–no,” he gasps, his chest heaving.
He’s seen my ravaged back, seen the destruction the great Tomaso Amante wreaked on his own
flesh and blood.
“What’s going on?” Cain’s words are clipped and sharp as he joins us, Korah close behind.
“Is it true?” Esau asks, and self-loathing fills me with a sticky hatred as I watch his bent posture,
his anguished stare. I always knew his angel heart would cause him pain. “Did Saul get his first
lashes because of me?”
Cain’s gaze whips to me, and if I hadn’t had the past that I did, I would be afraid of the rage that
makes his dark eyes gleam in the low lights.
“You fucking selfish son of a bitch!” he seethes, his voice lowered but full of venom.
I can feel the remorse transform, turning into white, fiery anger, like a caterpillar morphing into a
death’s head moth. An employee comes over to hold out the tablet before I can say anything. It’s
probably for the best; I’d only vent this sickness that begs to be released.
“Good evening and welcome to Rapture,” he says, his bare chest twinkling with iridescent glitter.
“You all need to sign this consent form.”
For a few moments, we all just stare at each other, ignoring him completely. With a sigh, Cain
turns to face the employee and takes the stylus, signing the device. We all follow suit, and the guy
walks away to ask someone across the room to do the same.
“We’ll deal with this later. Can we just get through this night without more shit?” Cain looks at me
when he says the last part, and I just stare back. “Saul,” he warns.
“Fucking fine,” I huff out, slinging back the last of my drink and relishing the burn the alcohol
gives going down.
The lights dim, turning off completely. When the lights are back, a man stands in the center of the
room. The dark hair, piercing green eyes, and Greek looks tell me that this is Steffan Lykaios, the
owner of club Rapture.
“Welcome to a night of sin and debauchery like you’ve never experienced before. For those of
you who’ve been a member of my club and delved into our sins previously, this night will truly differ
from anything you’ve encountered before. For tonight, every single person here will immerse
themselves in the darkest depths of their sinful nature and not surface until dawn.” He turns in a slow
circle, taking each of us in his shadowed gaze before continuing, sweeping his arm to the left. “As the
lights flicker to a new color, one that matches that of your bracelet, let your inhibitions fall away and
step inside the waiting elevators, for it’s time to embark on your journey of sin and corruption.”
He walks off with a flourish of his coattails and then slips out a door.
Suddenly, the lights flash purple and two men get to their feet, one with dark hair that’s going gray
at the sides, the other with shaggy, blond hair and bouncing around excitedly. They both walk over to
the elevator, the doors opening with a smartly-dressed bellhop waiting inside. As the doors shut, the
older guy presses his bracelet into a scanner and then they’re gone.
The lights go a golden-yellow next, and a man with slicked-back, black hair wearing sunglasses
ㅡfucking doucheㅡgets in another elevator, repeating the same process as before.
Anticipation makes me set aside my anger, my heart beating fast in my chest as I wait for our turn.
We’re waiting for green, the color of our bracelets. A light pink fills the room next, and a stunning
woman with curves for days and dark brown hair gets up, her long dress parting with thigh-high slits
as she walks. She, too, gets in and is whisked away.
A fissure of excitement runs through me when the lights go green, and I look at Cain to see his
hard face bathed in the shade. I want to laugh at how the color doesn’t suit him at all, leaving him
sickly looking as we walk across the room to the waiting elevator.
The same bellhop that let the first guys in, stands to one side, allowing us entry, and we each scan
our bracelets before the doors close after us. I glance around at the mirrored walls, four masked
devils staring back at us. Cain looks straight ahead, his eyes fierce and his mouth tight. Esau’s
beautiful mouth pinches tightly, but he stands tall even though I know my words have ripped a tear
into him. Korah’s gaze is full of stoic blankness. I confront my image last, seeing the dark hair of my
father and the blue eyes of my mother reflected at me, the mask obscuring my other features.
I cringe at the sight. I fucking hate mirrors. They only show me the pain of my past. The
hopelessness of my future. Even when I can’t see my reflection fully.
Before I can fall into that pit of self-pity, we stop, and the doors open with a ding. We all falter at
the sight before us.
The room is coated in shades of green, from the dark, forest green of the patterned carpet to the
sage and hunter green of the silk brocade wallpaper. The seating is a deep emerald velvet that
matches the drapes, cushions in jade and sea green scattered across the various couches and chairs.
Pistachio jewels glint from the many chandeliers that hang from the ceiling, and a stunning woman
with dark brown hair stalks over to us in a sequined, apple green, floor-length gown.
“This way, sirs,” she purrs, her voice deep and sensual. She holds her arm out toward a part of
the room that has heavy, velvet drapes cutting across it.
A beautiful man with jet black hair strolls over, handing each of us a glass of green liquid. He’s
wearing loose, jade green pants that shine like silk and cannot hide his impressive manhood. Shit,
even I’m drooling, but then again, I’m not opposed to some boy-on-boy action. Love is love and sex
is sex, regardless of who’s pleasuring you.
“Absinthe,” he tells us, sliding his eyes over each of us and licking his full lips.
“Thanks,” I reply, watching as his nostrils flare when I take a sip of my drink. The pungent,
aniseed flavor bursts on my tongue, making my taste buds wake up after the vodka lulled them earlier.
“Raven, stop eye-fucking our guests. They’re not for us tonight,” the brunette beauty sighs. “Best
not keep him waiting,” she says to us, inclining her head to the closed-off area.
“Maybe later, then.” I grin at the man, sauntering off toward whatever awaits us behind the
drapes.
The others catch up to me, Cain holding out his arm as I go to push past the drapes. I roll my eyes,
taking a step back. I know the drill; Korah always goes first, followed by the heir and golden boy.
Cain broke rank earlier, and he best pray that Father doesn’t find out. Otherwise, he’ll be in deep shit.
Years ago, it would have been me in trouble, but Father had to stop the whippings when I became old
enough to fight back. Seems like it’s no fun hurting someone who’s able to defend himself.
Korah steps through the opening, giving Cain a grunt to let him know that it’s all clear. In the
correct order, the rest of us follow.
Waiting for us is Don Tomaso Amante—leader of the Amante branch of the Cosa Nostra—our
father and all-around asshole. Next to him sits possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Deep emerald silk encases her stunning curves, the peaks of her nipples letting me know she’s
definitely braless. Auburn hair, the color of the dying sun, falls in careless tumbles across her
shoulders, just aching to be fisted.
She looks up, and my whole body freezes, a sound like air rushing past my ears when I jump off
buildings all I can hear. Beautiful, achingly familiar, moss green eyes stare back at us, her face a
blank mask of indifference before an innocent yet seductive smile graces her damn near biteable lips.
“Ah, i miei ragazzi.” Tomaso beams like a fucking shark, my stare flicking to him briefly before
being drawn back to her. To the woman who was my very own Florence fucking Nightingale. “This is
Revelry. She’ll be taking care of you tonight.”
Five
REVELRY
N ightmares are for living in. Dreams are the lies that kill you.
Martha told me that once when she found me sobbing in the pantry. The kitchen and closets
were the only safe havens for me growing up, so I would go there after a beating, breathing in the
smell of bread that tugged at the recesses of my mind. And I would try my hardest to remember her—
my mother.
All I can recall is the scent of baking and the bright russet of her hair tucked into her headscarf.
Her face is a blur. I hate that I can’t see her face, even when I close my eyes.
Do I look like her? Do I sound like her?
Who cares? Nightmares are for living…
Trying to remember my mother—that I even had someone who must have wanted me, cared for me
—is a dream. A lie. And Martha was right; losing myself in fantasy is what will kill me. Not Don
Tomaso. Not the dark, monstrous memories that plague my every waking moment.
Hope and desire should stay lost and forgotten.
I don’t need them.
I have revenge.
The men approach, and the noise their steps make has the acid in my stomach churning. But I don’t
look at them, not yet, giving myself a mere moment of quiet before the storm of their violent affections
consumes me. More men, more pleasure to give—the math is simple, but the situation is not. Tomaso
shouldn’t be here, but he is, and I don’t know why. The sound of the men moving into the room
eventually makes me look up as expected; it’s my job to care for Tomaso’s guests.
It always has been.
Four men in devil masks are standing before Don Tomaso, leader of the Amante branch of the
Cosa Nostra. Owner of me.
The first guy, the one off to the side, is imposing, with dark tattoos peeking from his collar. He’s a
stoic bear, with a grizzly demeanor to match, his eyes a surprising, bright hazel as they take me in.
I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him now. Not with the mask. I immediately dismiss him as the
bodyguard and look at the one beside him, slightly shorter but no less intimidating.
He’s dark-haired just like the first, with eyes to match, neatly presented in a beautifully cut suit
that’s as crisp as a one-hundred-dollar bill. He stands out like the prince of this jaded underworld and
knows it. His grace is powerful but contained, like a puma, and the gold chain at his throat speaks
volumes. This one has earned his place. The broken Cinderella in me finds the arrogant side of this
prince appealing, but the dark rage in his masked eyes reminds me not to cling to powerful men with
haunted eyes that tell sorrowful stories.
Behind him, a guy at the far right catches my eye with his blond curls, mouth tense with pain, and
bright blue orbs that bleed innocence better than I could ever embody it. He seems too delicate to be
with these men. Not physically, but with the way he holds himself and the slight tension in his jaw, he
reminds me of a bird with a damaged wing. If he’s not careful, too long on the ground with the cats
and he’ll get eaten.
In front of the delicate bird is the fourth man. He has the same height and almost-black hair as the
prince, but less coiffed and longer on top, complementing his unshaven jawline. This one is definitely
not delicate—he’s a coiled snake like me, ready to strike. I wonder what type of snake he is—a cobra
with spitting venom or a rattlesnake that threatens before he attacks?
It’s only as I peer into his eyes, so startlingly blue, that they sear through me. Making it so I can’t
breathe. Broken shards of a past life splinter through my mind so fast that I can’t make sense of it,
evoking vivid images of blood, so red and thick, and a pang of suffocating sadness, so deep and
piercing, my heart feels like it’s going to explode.
He’s a cobra—one poked and prodded in a basket too many times.
Like me.
The fingers in my left hand, casually resting on the arm of the chaise I’m sitting in, twitches.
No, no, no. Control.
A simple breath, in and out. Take in the hurt and release the pain.
Just breathe.
My mask, invisible to the world, slips into place, and I let my weapon—a ghost of a smile filled
with everything teasing and sweet—play over my lips.
“This is Revelry. She’ll be taking care of you tonight.”
“Delighted to meet you,” I say softly, keeping my tone light but playful.
He hates when I’m overtly sexy. Only whores need to advertise their wares. I’m different because
I’m his possession, to be given to those he thinks are deserving.
Or to enlighten them. Like his punishment of Saul.
Inwardly, my chest tightens. Outwardly, I do nothing but blink. I haven’t thought about Tomaso’s
sons in a long time. Why am I thinking of him now?
I push the stray thoughts of him away, back where they came from—deep down in the recesses of
my darkest but sweetest memories. Thoughts of Saul do not belong here. Now is not the time to dwell
on the past. And it’s all the same. These men are the same as the others. They stare at me in much the
same way all men do.
I wet my lips, tasting bile, wishing I could get rid of it with the sweet taste of my lip gloss. I had it
on before Tomaso forced me to my knees and watched, dispassionately but no less intently, as he
allowed Jed to fuck my mouth. It was a gift for his service.
And because he knew it would debase and unsettle me.
Tomaso would never leave a scar on my body. My skin and purity are too valuable, so he uses
mind games to break me. I couldn’t give a fuck about Jed. I’m used to being poked, prodded, and
passed around.
That’s not what has me on edge tonight.
No. It’s his presence here. Maybe he knows what I was planning? It doesn’t matter. That small
window of opportunity has dried up, and the inevitable punishment that Tomaso has in store for me
has my body tense and my nerves wrought.
He enjoys throwing hurdles at his possessions to see if we fall. It keeps us on our toes and makes
our obedience much sweeter when we choose our fate instead of being dragged down, kicking and
screaming.
Still, his words say that he’s gifting me to these men, and this is no longer part of my punishment.
They are too pretty, too attractive, even with their masks. Maybe the punishment is over?
Whatever it is, I shouldn’t keep them waiting. I’m here to show them their darkest desires and
give them a platform to explore their deepest sins. That’s what this club is about and what I trained
for. It started when I was seven years old, and scary Lib made me wait outside the hidden room,
waiting to be called in by Don Tomaso. I wasn’t Revelry then. I was someone else with an innocence
that was true. Only Saul, Tomaso’s son, understood.
 Until the monster destroyed him.
Why am I thinking of him now? It’s the blue eyes. They look like Saul’s. Inwardly, I startle with
the thought that it might be them, my guys, after all these years. But no. Why would it be?
“The pleasure is all ours, bel fiore,” the dark prince says, his voice deep and smooth, his eyes
boring into mine.
The name he uses makes my heart pound in my chest. I haven’t heard it in so long. It’s a battle not
to let my brows drop, not to study these four demons closely to see if my past has indeed become my
present.
I get to my feet, keeping my face blank and indifferent, and walk toward the men waiting for me.
The dress covering me clings to my body with every movement, designed to slide away from my
curves with one tug of the side fastening. The cool silk rustles over my bare skin, reminding me I’m
not wearing much underneath it. Perhaps that’s why the cobra with intense, blue eyes hasn’t stopped
staring.
I’m used to being the object of lust, but how he looks at me isn’t like that. It’s familiar, yet all too
confusing, but I can’t let myself get distracted. I pass my gaze over him and continue walking to where
there’s a sleek, glass-green St. Andrew’s Cross waiting for me in the center of the room.
Reaching up, I slip a hand through each of the straps at each upper end of the cross. Then I kick off
my jade, satin heels so Raven, who came in just for this part of the show, can secure my ankles wide
apart.
As I look back over my shoulder, my red hair tumbling, Raven gives me a seductive wink and
leaves the room. Just like everyone here, he assumes I chose this. I did. I walked up to this
contraption of my own free will and allowed myself to be restrained to it. Most girls would love to
be in this position—tied up, unable to move, at the mercy of such attractive, dominant men.
I’m not most girls, more’s the pity.
On one side of the cross are rows of toys in black, silver, and green hues—from floggers, soft and
harsh, paddles and ropes, to rows of intrusion-type objects such as dildos, sleek-looking plugs,
vicious clamps, and electric wands. Everything you could ask for that gives pleasure…and pain.
I won’t enjoy any of them.
I never have, not even when I let my mind fly to other places during my training. It’s like I’m
watching it happen to someone else, and my body is just a vessel for them to fill with whatever they
want. Even finding release on demand has eluded me, although I can fake pretty well. Just like I will
have to now, over and over, for these men.
Will Tomaso watch? Or will he let me have one night to leave my body behind?
The cool metal of the X frame is soothing as I press against it, but it makes me shiver as I twist to
look farther behind me at the men standing there, staring, eyeing me like a feast to devour. Why don’t
they say anything? The men who take me aren’t usually this quiet.
Let’s get this over with.
“I’m ready to take your punishment,” I repeat the words Tomaso wanted me to say to them.
Behind their masked faces, a wicked light gleams in their eyes, and the perfectly poised prince
steps forward first, as I expected, giving me a devilish smile.
I flit my gaze back to blue eyes for a split-second without thinking . . .
And it’s the wrong thing to have done.
The prince’s lips curl into a snarl—he looks as menacing as his father. It all comes crashing back
then. Don Tomaso is his father.
“Cain.” I sneer his name, a whisper barely on my tongue, tasting of forgotten dreams and empty
promises. He stiffens as though caught in the same nightmare I’m in, and yet, I know he can’t be,
because Cain Amante is a liar and cunt.
All of them are.
Cain. Saul. Esau. Korah. The boys I grew up with and cared for when Tomaso got too careless or
rough. It was my job to soothe their hurts, always ignoring my own. Well, no more.
“Stunning creature, is she not?” Tomaso says, rising out of his chair. His voice is harsh, a whip
lashing flesh, drawing my attention back to him as he comes over to where I’m tied up on the cross.
He pays no attention to Cain or Saul, his sons.
His dark eyes are on me.
There’s a warning in them.
“Tomas—”
He grabs my jaw in his hand, thumb shoving into my mouth to shut me up, testing my compliance. I
let him in, tasting the salt on his fingers. His other calloused palm glides up the silk of my dress, and
for a terrible, cruel moment, I think he’s going to fuck me on this cross in front of them all. I fight with
every urge to react. I need to be the fucking swan or I’ll lose it, and I can’t, not after everything I’ve
had to endure.
“She’ll see to your every desire,” he sneers, giving my ass one last squeeze and then pulling
away. “Use her as you prefer. She’s Amante property.”
He nods to his boys and then walks out, leaving me alone with the four men I never thought I’d see
again.
Something snaps inside me like a violin string, played too long and stretched too thin. Rage and
pain smother my senses until I can’t breathe; I’m so angry. I twist in my restraints to look at them—
Cain with his darkness, Saul and his ghosts, wounded Korah, and Esau, full of sorrow. I was twelve
years old when I last saw them. The ones who left me, who didn’t come and find me as they
promised. The ones I waited for every day for years until I finally gave up hope. It shattered my heart
and soul, knowing they didn’t even fucking try.
Six
KORAH
T henothing
soft confusion in her dazzling, green eyes dissolves into spitting rage, like a snake that wants
more than to bite and poison.
I can’t believe it’s her, our beautiful flower. Our Saffron.
We tried for years to find her, searching without Tomaso’s knowledge, terrified that he would do
something to her if he found out. But as hard as we searched, we couldn’t discover where she’d gone,
what had happened to her.
Dark rage seizes my lungs at the realization that he had her the whole time and if her presence
here is any sign, she’s been through hell since she left us.
I’m so sorry, bel fiore, our beautiful flower.
“You bastards,” she seethes, tugging against her restraints. Her entire body trembles and a sharp
pain runs through my chest at seeing her so angry at us.
“Not happy to see us, bel fiore?” Cain asks, stepping closer and dropping his mask to the floor.
There may be a cruel tilt to his lips, but his fixed stare and the slight shake of his hands tell another
story. He’s just as fucked up over this as the rest of us.
“Fuck off, Cain,” she snarls, and, my god, is she beautiful in her wrath. She’s positively glowing
with it, and I want to bask in that warmth. Let it heat my insides and chase away this cold that I feel
all the time.
I blink and Cain is on her, pressing his body against hers, caging her into the cross. Without
thinking, I step forward, hands clenched into fists at my sides, ready to intervene, but a hand grasps
my arm, and I tear my eyes away to look at Esau.
“Give him a moment, cuz,” he pleads, his blue eyes sparkling with the pain from Saul’s comments
earlier. And, no doubt, discovering our heart after all this time, only to have her loathe us.
“Don’t touch me, you mobster cunt!”
My head snaps back to our girl and Cain, his body pinning her to the cross as he talks low in her
ear. She bucks and fights, even rearing back to try to head-butt him, and Saul’s bark of laughter has my
own lips twitching upward.
“Sure you can handle her, brother?” he teases, sauntering over to the other side of the cross, and
she swivels her head to look at him in front of her.
“Fuck you, Saul.”
“Not yet, bel fiore. But soon.” He steps closer, and I shift so that I can see what happens next.
Saul doesn’t even flinch as a glob of spit lands on the side of his cheek.
Everyone pauses, and even our savage flower holds still, waiting to see what his reaction will be.
Slowly, he lifts a hand up to his cheek, swiping at the saliva with his finger, and never taking his eyes
off hers, he opens his mouth, placing the finger inside, and licks off her spit.
Heat suffuses my limbs, and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, longing to take his place.
But, as usual, I hold back. Always observing, watching.
“N–none of you will be fucking me tonight,” she says into the silence, and the tremor in her voice
cracks my already broken heart. “You don’t deserve me.”
“You’re right, bel fiore, we don’t deserve you,” Saul replies, his tone soft and wistful as he steps
even closer, undoing his bow tie. “But we’re Amante. So we’ll take you, anyway.”
He strokes her cheek, the gesture so tender that her lashes flutter over those eyes full of emerald
fire. Then he pushes the ball of cloth into her mouth, her lids snapping open, her jaw slack as he
forces all of it inside. I can see her mouth working, trying to push it back out, but Cain is quicker and
secures his own bow tie around her mouth, keeping Saul’s cloth inside her.
“That’s better,” Cain comments, his hand grabbing her chin and turning her head to the side. “Now
you can shut the fuck up and listen for a minute.”
She makes a muffled noise, but I see how her shoulders slump and the fight leaves her body soft
now that she’s given up. If I had my voice, I would scream at her not to, to keep fighting these
bastardi. But perhaps, like me, she’s biding her time.
I edge closer, Esau doing the same and coming around to her other side as we wait to see what
Cain will say now that she’s compliant.
“I can take an educated guess and assume that you are so pissed at us because we abandoned you
all those years ago?”
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t whimper, doesn’t even try to make a sound, and the way that she
holds herself upright shows a strength that most men don’t have. I would know; I’ve tortured enough
of them for the Amante family.
“We searched everywhere, bel fiore,” Saul interjects, and his blue eyes are full of anguish. His
hand gently cups her cheek and takes her face from Cain’s harsh grip, pressing their foreheads
together. A bold move, considering that she just tried to head-butt Cain. But she doesn’t do the same
to Saul. He was always her soft spot. Her body rises and falls quickly against Cain, her rapid breaths
betraying how affected she is right now.
“We couldn’t find you. They ripped out our hearts, and we didn’t know how to get you back,”
Esau whispers, his blue eyes sparkling as he steps closer to her side, and she turns her head to look at
him. I can no longer see her beautiful, tortured face, but the shuddering breath she takes tells me that
our beauty’s heart is also breaking, just a little. “I’m so sorry, firecracker.”
This time, she makes a noise, a muffled sob. Unable to hold back anymore, I step into the other
side of the cross, running my finger up her bare arm. Fuck, her skin is soft under my fingertip. Her
head slowly turns my way, and tears glisten on her cheeks, sparkling in the low lights.
I can’t talk to her like the others; the block that has cut off my words since the awful night my
family was murdered before my eyes prevents me from telling her how much I’ve missed her. How
sorry I am that I didn’t find her sooner.
So, I beg her with my eyes, my huge palm engulfing her soft cheek as I untie the gag and take the
cloth from her mouth, then bring our lips together. I pour all my sorrow, rage, and elation into our first
kiss. She freezes, and I can’t see her expression as my eyes have closed to stop my own tears from
falling. She was the only one that I could cry in front of. That I could show my pain. And she took it,
all the darkness and rage and hurt, and she made me anew.
I run my tongue along the seam of her plush lips, and a sobbing moan opens her to me. I waste no
time diving in, coaxing her tongue to tangle with mine, and the first brush has me almost falling to my
knees. She tastes like despair and salvation all in one, and I surge closer, drinking her into me like she
can save my wretched soul once more.
Reluctantly, I pull away, my chest heaving with all the emotions that are swirling inside of me.
Lust for this stunning creature is the least of them, but I can’t deny that my cock is harder than it’s ever
been as I release her, opening my eyes to find the mirror of my soul staring back at me.
“Let us take care of you now. Let us show you our apology,” Cain whispers, and my eyes widen a
fraction at the note of pleading in his tone. Cain never pleads, shit, he never asks. But he’s asking,
no… begging, now.
 Her eyelids flutter, and I tear my gaze away from her face to watch as he runs his palms down the
length of her supple body, a small whimper sounds as he cups her luscious breast, tweaking her
nipples.
“You want to let us take care of you, don’t you, beautiful flower?” Esau adds, running his nose up
the long column of her neck. Another tortured moan sounds in her throat.
“We will make you feel so fucking good, angel,” Saul tells her, and a glint of metal flashes in the
light, followed by a sharp inhale from our girl as he slices through one strap that holds her silk dress
up. Her eyes are wide as he reaches around to do the same to the other side, the garment slithering
down her body and pooling at her feet in a shimmering heap.
Fuck. Me.
I hear the sharp inhales that matches mine all around me as we take her in. She’s fucking exquisite.
Her curves perfect, her body built to give men pleasure. A growl rumbles in my chest at the thought of
the men she must have pleasured before. No more. She’s ours now, and it’s time that we teach her
what heaven feels like.
“You were always beautiful,” Cain whispers, his hands now tracing her naked skin. Goose bumps
erupt over the surface, the freckles across her neck and shoulders like stars I want to map out. “But,
bel fiore, you are perfection.”
Her eyes roll, her head tilting back as he cups her breasts once more, and this time, I see her
nipples pebble when he toys with them. My mouth waters and I long to run my tongue over the buds.
“Absolutely stunning,” Esau adds, nibbling her neck, eliciting more moans from deep in her
throat.
I watch, captivated, as Cain’s hands drift down her body. She can’t fight the way she sinks into
him, her hips thrusting forward as he gets closer to the apex of her thighs.
“You’re ours, bel fiore. You always have been and always will be,” he whispers into her ear, her
head now resting on his shoulder. A deep sound echoes in the room when his fingers finally make
contact, and although I can’t see her delicious folds, I know from the pleased look on his face that
she’s wet for us, just as we are all rock-fucking-solid for her. “Such a good little girl, so wet for us,”
he confirms a moment later.
Reaching down, I try to adjust myself to a more comfortable place in my slacks, but it’s no fucking
use. I’m so hard, it’s painful.
“You always were our good girl, weren’t you, Saffron?” Saul murmurs, and her eyes open, her
jaw working and tears gathering in her lashes even as her hips move in time with Cain’s hand. “He
took your name, didn’t he, beautiful?”
She nods, the tears spilling onto her cheeks and sparkling in the room’s light.
“He always takes so much,” Esau adds softly, and I have to grit my teeth to stop the scream from
erupting.
Cain’s eyes flash to mine, and I see the pain and guilt in them that is often there when he looks at
me. It’s not surprising, really, given that he was my family’s executioner.
Shaking my head and focusing back on our girl, I reach out and stroke down her side. Her head
turns toward me, and I see the kinship that we share, both of us having lost something to Tomaso
Amante.
But this is not about that. This is about making her feel good, taking her away from all the horror
she’s endured in our absence, if only for a minute. I glide my fingertips back up, stroking the
underside of her full breast and over the top in ever-decreasing circles. She whines, my eyes
flickering upward to see her hooded gaze on me. Slowly, I bend down and press a kiss to the side of
her globe, relishing in the way her chest hitches with her inhale. Her tits are luscious, large enough
that I can pull it to the side a little so that my tongue can access her hardened nipple. I swirl my tongue
around and around, taking it into my mouth and sucking, uncaring what the others are doing but
desperate to taste even a small part of her.
Her body writhes and bucks, and I pause, looking down to see that her ankles are untied and
Saul’s dark, messy head is between her thighs. Lucky bastardi. There’s not much room, especially as
Cain’s hand is still there, but if her cries and squirming body are any sign, she’s getting closer.
Bending back to my work, I resume suckling her, using my teeth to graze the sensitive bud every
so often. Pre-cum leaks from my tip, no doubt staining these thousand-dollar pants, but I don’t give a
fuck as, with a strangled scream, her entire body goes taut.
Pulling back, I watch as she comes, covering Saul with her release as she tightly grips the cuffs at
her wrists. She’s breathtaking in her climax, and I want to watch it for whatever is left of my cursed
life.
She trembles now for a completely different reason, her body still twitching as she comes down
from her high.
“Korah, Esau,” Cain says, his voice breathy and panting. “Untie her so we can look after her.”
We obey, as we always do, but for once, I’m glad for it as I undo the leather cuff and she slumps
into Cain’s arms and he lifts her bridal style. Saul gets up, bending down to place a soft kiss on her
red and swollen lips, and she doesn’t take a bite out of him, which is both a surprise and a relief.
“Are you hungry, bel fiore?” he asks, his hand caressing her flushed cheek.
“D–Don’t you want to . . . you know?” Her voice is rough and husky and sends a bolt straight to
my dick.
“We won’t fuck you until you ask us to, firecracker,” Esau replies, hovering on her other side, and
her brows lower.
“Until you beg us to, he means,” Saul interjects, and I roll my eyes. Fucking asshole.
She utters a small scoffing noise, and the sound makes us all smile, as it’s one reminiscent of our
childhood.
“Oh, you will beg, flower,” Cain tells her, turning around and stepping toward the couches that
she and Tomaso were sitting on when we arrived. “Of that, there is no question.”
Seven
REVELRY
“S affron, wake up.”
It takes me a moment, dusting off the depths of sleep, to come fully awake.
“Saffron,” the voice is matronly, calling into my room through the crack in the door. I sit up
and switch on the bedside light, rubbing my eyes. The room is still dark, but there’s a soft light
outside, diffusing away the night.
“Martha?”
“You need to get dressed and then come downstairs.”
“Now?” I feel like I’m still dreaming; the bedcovers are warm, lulling me back to sleep.
“Yes, now. Hurry up. He’s waiting.”
I know who she means without her having to say his name. A bolt of fear shivers through me,
forcing me to climb out of bed. I don’t waste time finding something to wear. Last night’s dress is
folded on the chaise near the window and my shoes are tucked under it. I slip those on after
shrugging off my nightgown and putting on fresh undergarments.
Worry worms in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know what to expect. It could be anything. It’s
not unusual for Martha to come and get me so I can tend to Saul after his enlightenment. It’s
always Cain’s fault when that happens, though he tries not to make mistakes and hasn’t in a while.
But if Saul is hurt, I need to move quickly.
He will need me.
I don’t bother to brush my teeth or run a comb through my hair. I hurry through the shadowed
corridors until I get to the landing.
“There you are,” Martha says when I get to the top of the stairs. Her eyes are wet. She’s been
crying. Is Saul hurt again? I look around but don’t see him or any of the boys.
Next to her, Don Tomaso stares up at me. “Saffron, come here.” His eyes are cold, hard in the
low light of the hallway.
I obey him without question, taking the stairs as quickly as possible without falling down them,
my heart beating faster with every step.
When I get to the bottom, I dare to look up at the man who owns me, knowing I won’t find
affection there. Don Tomaso has always treated me like something to be used. I don’t mind that,
though; as long as I’m helpful, he won’t get rid of me like many who have disappointed him in the
past.
Staying here means I get to be close to Saul, Korah, Cain, and Esau. I’m their bel fiore—it
means “beautiful flower,” that’s what Cain told me. When I asked why, he told me I’m delicate like
a flower and make their dark world beautiful.
I didn’t believe Cain, because he is always teasing me, but as we walked back from church,
Esau whispered that it was true. Esau never lies, so it made me blush. Saul was with us, and he
picked a flower, a small green one from the garden, and tucked it behind my ear. Korah smiled at
me. It made me want the ground to swallow me up whole, but inside, my heart felt lighter and
warmer.
It doesn’t feel that way now.
In my dress pocket is Saul’s flower. I slide my hand in and hold it, the soft velvet petals
brushing against my palm. I wish I could keep it from dying so I’ll always have it, but it’s already
Another random document with
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dan niet een beetje [a38] zelfzuchtig om alleen maar aan je eigen
plezier te denken, en kalm door te gaan?"

"Ja maar daar heb ik heelemaal niet over gedacht!"

"Dat begrijp ik wel," zei Vader terwijl hij opstond, "maar wil je dan
niet eens probeeren om daar voortaan wel aan te denken?"

"Ja Vader."

"Mooi. En ga dan nu maar met me mee en laat me die lastige som

eens zien."

Vader opende de deur om naar zijn eigen kamer te gaan.

Eduard volgde hem, maar eerst holde hij nog even naar de keuken.

"Rika, ben je nog boos op me?"

"Ik ben niet boos."

"Geef me dan een hand, Rika!" En hij schudde de uitgestoken hand

zóó lang en zóó krachtig, dat Rika "au" riep.
 [a39]

II.
"Och, Vader, u luistert niet!"

"Jawel vent, ik luister, de man heeft rogge en tarwe."

"Een een vijfde maal zooveel rogge als tarwe!"

"Een een vijfde maal zooveel," herhaalde Vader geduldig.

"En nu verkoopt hij de helft van de rogge en een derde van de

tarwe, 1 H.L. rogge voor f 10.—en 1 H.L. tarwe voor f 15.—, en nu
ontvangt hij voor de rogge f 75.— meer dan voor de tarwe, hoeveel
heeft hij van elk gehad?" dreunde Eduard op, en toen: "Kijk, nu heb
ik zoo gedaan," en hij zocht in een hoek van zijn kladpapier tusschen
een menigte cijfertjes, waar hij zelf blijkbaar nog maar met moeite uit
wijs kon worden: "O ja, kijk, zoo ben ik begonnen" .... Maar opeens
hield hij midden in zijn zin op toen hij toevallig Vader even aanzag.
"Och, nu hebt u weer heelemaal niet geluisterd!" zei hij ongeduldig.

Vader schrikte op. "Nee, ik heb ook niet geluis-[a42] terd, ik zat aan
iets anders te denken. Leg het me nog maar eens uit, ik zal nu beter
opletten."

"Heusch?"

"Ja heusch," en Vaders donker hoofd boog zich over het

sommenschrift heen.

Eduard begon weer van voren af aan over zijn rogge en tarwe tot
hij eindelijk midden in zijn uitlegging bleef steken. "Maar nu kan ik
niet verder komen," zei hij, "ik begrijp niet wat ik nu doen moet."

"Je kunt er zoo ook nooit komen," verklaarde Vader. "Begin nu

eens van den anderen kant af, en reken uit hoeveel rogge hij
verkoopt als hij 1 H.L. tarwe verkoopt."
 "Dat heb ik ook al gedaan," zei Eduard uit zijn humeur, "maar toen
ging 't ook niet!" en toen Vader zweeg: "Komt 't dan wel uit, Vader?"

"Probeer 't maar eens," antwoordde Vader kort, terwijl hij de

courant openvouwde en begon te lezen.

Eduard beet besluiteloos op zijn potlood en streek met zijn hand

door het kortgeknipte blonde haar. Toen ging hij zuchtend weer aan
't cijferen.

Een minuut of tien bleef 't stil in de kamer.

"Vader!"

"Wat is er?"

"'t Komt niet uit!"

"Laat maar eens kijken!" en Vader verdiepte zich even in de som

en besloot: "Je hebt je vergist, reken 't maar eens over, dan vind je
de fout wel."

[a43] En weer was 't stil; alleen ritselde nu en dan de courant,

wanneer Vader een blad omsloeg, en telkens zuchtte Eduard,
wanneer weer een nieuwe poging om de fout te ontdekken mislukt
was.

"Niet zoo zuchten!" zei Vader eindelijk, "gaat het niet?"

En Eduard keek even op, eerst heel nadenkend en met rimpels in

zijn voorhoofd, en toen glimlachend, en rekende weer verder. —

"Klaar!" 't Klonk als een juichkreet, en met een triomfantelijk gezicht
legde hij het sommenschrift op de opengeslagen courant.

Vader las 't even vluchtig door. "Mooi zoo," zei hij, toen klapte hij
het schrift dicht en gaf het aan Eduard terug.
 De jongen ging naar een hoek van de kamer waar zijn schooltasch
op den grond lag, en stopte er zijn boeken en schriften in.

"Pepi, kom eens hier!" vroeg Vader, en toen Eduard tegen zijn knie
aanleunde en hem verwonderd aanzag: "Weet jij nog, wanneer ik het
laatst op reis ben geweest?"

"Op reis? Ja, was dat niet verleden week, toen u naar Arnhem was,
of bedoelt u dat niet?"

"Nee, dat bedoel ik niet, toen kwam ik 's avonds weer thuis; ik
bedoel voor langer tijd."

"O," zei Eduard; hij begreep niet goed wat Vader eigenlijk wilde
vertellen; "was dat niet twee jaar geleden, toen u naar Engeland
was?"

[a44] "Ik geloof het ook; ik vroeg 't maar, omdat ik nu weer op reis
moet, zie je."

Eduards gezicht betrok. "Gaat u op reis? Waar naar toe?"

"Naar Indië.

"Naar Indië?"

"Ja; er moeten een heeleboel nieuwe machines naar Indië toe, en

nu gaat een van de ingenieurs mee, en dat ben ik."

"En hoe lang blijft u dan weg?"

"Vier maanden."

"En wanneer gaat u?"

"Over drie weken."

Eduard vroeg niet verder. Stijf hield hij de leuning van den stoel
vast en keek Vader met wijd open oogen aan. 't Was, of hij 't nog
maar half begreep, maar vóór zich zag hij alleen vier lange,
eindeloos lange maanden, leeg en vreemd, en Vader heel ver weg.
Toen barstte hij uit: "Maar ik ga toch mee, is 't niet Vader?" en toen
Vader geen antwoord gaf: "Vader, zeg dat ik mee ga!"

"Nee jongen, ik kan je niet meenemen," zei Vader, en hij legde zijn
hand op Eduards schouder. "Kijk, als ik voor mijn plezier op reis ging
zou dat gaan, maar ik moet daar in Indië hard werken; ik zal den
heelen dag druk bezig zijn, en ben nu hier, dan daar. Je zou er niets
aan hebben, ik zou je den heelen dag alleen moeten laten, en
bovendien zou al dat heen en weer trekken veel te vermoeiend voor
je zijn."

[a45] "Maar u doet 't zelf toch ook!"

"Ja, maar ik ben ook geen kleine jongen meer!"

"Ik ook niet!"

"Nu, een groote jongen dan," en Vader glimlachte even. "Heusch

vent, 't gaat niet, 't is veel verstandiger dat je kalm hier blijft en naar
school gaat!"
 "En moet ik dan alleen thuis blijven?"

"Nee, je blijft niet thuis, je gaat uit logeeren. Ik heb gevraagd of je

dien tijd bij Tante Lina mag komen. Ik hoorde het vanmiddag, en
toen ben ik dadelijk aan het plannen maken gegaan; voor het eten
liep ik even bij Oom en Tante aan om te vragen of zij 't niet te lastig
vonden er nog een jongen [a48] bij te krijgen, en daardoor kwam ik
zoo laat thuis."

Eduard was op Vaders knie gaan zitten; tot nu toe had hij rustig
geluisterd, maar nu sloeg hij opeens zijn armen om Vaders hals en
begon onstuimig: "Maar u mag niet weggaan! Ik wil niet alleen hier
blijven, en ik wil ook niet naar Tante Lina!" En toen smeekend: "O,
Vader, ga toch niet weg!"

Vader zweeg, en drukte zijn jongen dicht tegen zich aan; het was
het eenige wat hij op dit oogenblik voor hem kon doen. Veel was het
hem waard geweest, wanneer een van de andere ingenieurs deze
reis had kunnen maken, maar een langdurig gesprek met den
directeur van de groote machinefabriek waaraan hij verbonden was,
had hem de noodzakelijkheid van zijn gaan doen inzien. Het lachte
hem niet erg toe, zijn jongen alleen te moeten achterlaten, maar hij
was er van overtuigd, dat Eduard bij de oudere zuster van zijn vrouw
werkelijk goed bezorgd zou zijn, ook al was hij geen groot
huishouden gewend en al zou hij er in het begin misschien wat
moeite mee hebben, zich naar zijn nichtjes en neefjes te schikken.

"Eddy, lieveling, maak het niet nog moeilijker voor me dan het is!
Doe je best om ferm te zijn! Vier maanden zijn gauw om, en je zult
het zeker prettig hebben bij Tante Lina!"

"Hugo en Piet zijn zulke vervelende jongens!" klonk het gesmoord.

"Ja, dat vind jij, maar ligt dat nu ook niet een [a49] beetje aan
jezelf? Kijk, Oom en Tante wonen hier nog niet lang en je kent je
neefjes pas kort, zijn die jongens nu heusch zoo vervelend, nu je ze
niet dadelijk bizonder aardig vindt?"

Er kwam geen antwoord.

"Eddy, waaraan denk je?"

"Was Moeder er nog maar!"

Vader zweeg, en kuste zacht het blonde hoofd, dat tegen zijn
schouder leunde.

"Weet je nog wel hoe Moeder altijd probeerde het goede in de

menschen op te zoeken?" begon hij toen. "Moeder zei altijd, 'als ik
iemand vervelend vind, dan kan dat even goed aan mij liggen als
aan hem, en dan wil ik toch eerst eens trachten te weten te komen,
waarom een ander wel van hem houdt en ik niet!' En waarom
zouden andere menschen Hugo en Piet wel aardig vinden, en jij
niet? Begrijp je wat ik bedoel?"

"Ja."

"En zou je het zelf ook niet prettig vinden om goede vrienden met
de neefjes te zijn?"

Eduard antwoordde niet. "Alleen dán zou ik niet graag willen dat je
goede vrienden met ze werdt, als het jongens zijn die liegen of laf
zijn of gemeene dingen doen, maar dat geloof ik niet van ze. Kijk
eens, je zult een heeleboel te doen hebben in die vier maanden; je
zult je best moeten doen geduldig te blijven en niet boos te worden,
ook al gaat alles niet even gemakkelijk. — En het [a50] moeilijkste
van alles is om altijd te doen wat je zelf weet dat goed is. — Om
moedig te doen wat je duidelijk ziet dat je plicht is, en je er niet aan
te storen wat de andere jongens zeggen. — En daar is een
heeleboel moed voor noodig, weet je dat wel?"

"Ja, dat weet ik wel." —

"En wil je daarvoor je best doen? Kijk me eens aan, Eddy! Zoo —
wil je probeeren Vaders moedige, eerlijke jongen te zijn?"

Eduard knikte van ja, met een vreemd, strak gevoel in zijn
oogen. —

"En je zoo flink mogelijk houden als ik weg ben?"

En weer knikte Eduard van ja, half hopend dat Vader nu maar over
iets anders zou gaan praten, want hij voelde dat hij zich nu niet lang
meer goed zou kunnen houden.

"Mooi!" en zacht streek Vader over het kortgeknipte haar. "Heusch,

't zal zoo lang niet duren, in 't begin van Juni ben ik weer bij je!"
 "Maar ik vind het juist zoo vreeselijk lang!"

"Ja, maar dat valt wel mee; kijk, 't is niet eens vier heele maanden,
we gaan den achtsten Februari uit Genua; morgen over drie weken
ga ik weg, 's ochtends vroeg, en dan over land naar Genua. En daar
ligt de Willem II dan al op ons te wachten, en die brengt ons naar
Indië toe."

"Wie gaat er nog meer mee?"

"Mijnheer van der Zande gaat mee; hij heeft de machines gekocht
voor zijn fabrieken in Indië en nu [a51] gaat hij zelf mee om ze te
brengen, en dan maken we samen de reis."

"En blijft u dan eerst nog in Genua?"

"Blijven? Welnee! We komen er 's avonds aan, en ja, dan blijven

we er één nacht, en den volgenden morgen gaan we weg." —

"Maar u kent toch geen Italiaansch?"

Vader glimlachte even; "Nee, dat ken ik ook niet, maar ze verstaan
in Genua wel Fransch ook! Zoo zie je al weer, doe op school maar
goed je best met Fransch, anders kun je later nooit in Italië reizen!"

"En ik vind Fransch juist zoo'n naar vak," zuchtte Eduard. "Fransch
en sommen vind ik 't akeligste dat er bestaat, maar sommen toch
eigenlijk nog 't allerakeligste!"

"Juist een reden om er heel goed je best op te doen; heusch, als je

iets goed kent vind je het niet akelig meer, geloof je dat ook niet?"

"Misschien niet," zei Eduard voorzichtig, "maar sommen zal ik toch

wel altijd naar blijven vinden, denk ik."

Vader lachte, en kneep zijn jongen in de wang. "Pepi!" zei hij; — en

toen: "Maar kijk eens op de klok! Vraag aan Rika een glas melk en
maak dat je naar bed komt!"
 "Ja, maar ik wou nu juist nog zoo'n boel vragen, en ik wou nog veel
meer hooren over Indië!"

"Goed Pepi, morgen. Nacht Pepi!"

[a52] "Maar Vader, ik ...."

"Nacht Pepi!"

En lachend nam Vader zijn tegenstribbelenden jongen bij een arm

om hem de kamer uit te zetten.

"Luister dan nog even, Vader!"

"Nu, wat is er?"

"Komt u dan zoo meteen nog even boven als ik roep?"

"Ja, voor dezen keer."

"En, Vader, ik zal heusch denken aan wat ik beloofd heb, maar ik"
— Eduard slikte even — "ik wou toch wel dat u niet weg ging,
Vader!"

"Ik ook," antwoordde zijn Vader.

 [a53]

III.
Eduard stak zijn hoofd om de huiskamerdeur.

"Vader, mag ik eerst nog wat steltenloopen voor we gaan

koffiedrinken?"

"Ha, daar hebben we Pepi! Kom eens hier, Pepi, zeg je mijnheer
van der Zande niet goeiendag?"

Eduard kwam dichter bij, "Dag mijnheer!" zei hij.

"Dag e... jongmensch, hoe heet je ook weer?" en de jongen voelde

zich van het hoofd tot de voeten opnemen.

"Eduard," zei hij kort, en toen tegen zijn Vader, "mag ik nog even?"

"Ja, nog vijf minuten, maar voor 't huis blijven."

De beide heeren stonden voor 't raam, en keken er naar hoe

Eduard even later met een vlugge beweging op de stelten sprong.

"Een flinke jongen," zei mijnheer van der Zande, "hij begint op je te
lijken, Kerner!"

"Vind je?" vroeg Eduards Vader afgetrokken, en toen levendiger:

"Hij doet mij altijd sterk aan zijn Moeder denken." En knikkend tegen
Eduard, die op één stelt hinkend met de andere probeerde aan te
slaan: "maar 't is een echte bengel."

[a56] Eduard had intusschen ergens op straat een steentje ontdekt

en was daar nu zoo vlug als hij op zijn stelten vooruit kon komen
naar toe gegaan om in zijn eentje wat te voetballen.
 Hij was niet erg gesteld op mijnheer van der Zande, die óf tegen
hem sprak als tegen een kind van vijf jaar, óf doodkalm deed alsof hij
niet bestond. Maar dat was nog niet het voornaamste. Eduards
grootste grief was, dat mijnheer van der Zande, die een oude kennis
van Vader was, altijd onverwacht kwam, en juist altijd, als er het een
of ander prettige plannetje gemaakt was, dat daardoor dan natuurlijk
in het water viel. En dat kon hij nu wel niet helpen, maar 't was voor
Eduard toch reden genoeg om zijn komst nu niet met bizonder veel
genoegen te begroeten. — Vandaag ook weer, 't was de laatste dag
dat Vader er was, want morgenochtend vroeg zou Vader weggaan;
verder was 't Woensdag, en Eduard had zijn vioolles mogen
verzetten om voor 't laatst nog een gezelligen middag met Vader te
hebben en om te helpen Vaders handkoffertje in te pakken — en
natuurlijk kwam nu mijnheer van der Zande. — Misschien ging hij
wel dadelijk weg, maar die hoop werd steeds flauwer en verdween
geheel, toen Vader hem tikte om te komen koffiedrinken. Eduard gaf
nog een fermen schop tegen zijn steentje, toen sprong hij van zijn
stelten en zette ze met een verdrietig gezicht in de gang neer.

"En dan vind ik je morgen dus aan het station [a57] in Arnhem,"
hoorde hij zijn Vader zeggen toen hij binnenkwam, en mijnheer van
der Zande: "Uitstekend; in ieder geval ga ik vanmiddag nog door, ik
moet nog verschillende lui spreken."

De twee heeren zaten al aan tafel en Eduard schoof haastig zijn

stoel bij. — "In ieder geval gaat hij voor 't eten dus weg," dacht hij.

Mijnheer van der Zande begon iets te vertellen over zijn Vader, die
nog zoo flink was, en nog altijd zelf aan 't hoofd stond van de
fabrieken in Indië, en gaf toen een uitvoerig verslag van de oude
machines, en de bizonderheden waarin zij van de nieuwe
verschilden.

Eduard luisterde er niet naar; 't kon hem niet veel schelen; verder
hield hij zich bezig met het tellen van de broodjes en de kopjes
koffie, die mijnheer van der Zande achtereenvolgens deed
verdwijnen.
 "O, de betrekking van Hollandsche vertegenwoordiger van de zaak
bevalt mij best!" hoorde Eduard hem zeggen; "op mijn tiende jaar
kwam ik voor 't eerst naar Holland, en sedert dien tijd ben ik al zes
keer heen en weer geweest, maar nooit voor langer dan drie
maanden; dit is de zevende keer."

"Bleef hij er nu maar voor goed," dacht Eduard, "dan kwam hij hier
onze middagen tenminste niet meer bederven!"

Mijnheer van der Zande wendde zich nu plotseling tot Eduard.

"Zoo, mannetje, en leer je nogal vlijtig?" vroeg hij.

[a58] Eduard zei niets, en keek zijn Vader aan. — "Dat gaat nogal,
hè Pepi?" antwoordde deze voor hem, en toen mijnheer van der
Zande weer: "En in welke klas zit je wel?"

"In de zesde, mijnheer."

"Zoo, zoo; nou, dat schiet al op, hoor!" en toen van onderwerp
veranderend: "En ga je niet met Pa mee naar Indië?"

"Nee mijnheer."

"Zoo; 't is anders een best land, geloof je dat niet?"

"Jawel mijnheer."

"En waarom wil je dan niet mee?"

"Ik wil wel mee."

"Wat? En daarnet zei je dat je niet mee wou?" Eduard zei niets
meer, maar keek naar zijn Vader, alsof hij dacht, dat die wel voor
hem antwoorden zou.

"Later gaat hij eens mee," zei Vader, en toen, om er een eind aan
te maken: "Wil je nog een kop koffie?"
 Rika werd gebeld om nog eens koffie te schenken.

't Was zijn derde kopje al, dacht Eduard, aldoor schuins naar
mijnheer van der Zande kijkend, en hij was aan zijn vierde broodje
bezig.

En zonder dat mijnheer van der Zande het merkte stak hij tegen
Rika, die opnieuw het kopje vulde, eerst drie, en toen, met een
veelbeteekenende blik — naar de broodbak, vier vingers in de
hoogte. — Maar Vader had het wél gemerkt, en zag hem een halve
minuut lang streng aan.

[a59] Mijnheer van der Zande had zijn spoorboekje te voorschijn

gehaald en er met aandacht in gekeken. — "Mijn plan was om de
trein van 3.17 te nemen," zei hij toen, "maar heb je soms iets anders
te doen, zeg het dan gerust, ik vind mijn weg wel."

"Wel neen, ik vind het uitstekend. Ik had mijn jongen beloofd om

wat met hem te wandelen, maar dat kan toch gebeuren; na de koffie
kunnen we in mijn kamer gaan zitten en Eduard kan in dien tijd zijn
huiswerk maken; daarna brengen we je samen naar den trein en dan
loopen we buitenom, door het bosch."

"Ik vind ...." begon Eduard, maar zijn Vader viel hem haastig in de
rede. "Je opinie wordt niet gevraagd," zei hij kortaf.

Eduard was niet bizonder ingenomen met de schikking. Waarom

zei Vader nu niet dat hij wél wat anders te doen had? Vader had hem
toch beloofd met hem te gaan wandelen, en tegen dat mijnheer van
der Zande nu goed en wel weg was, zou de middag om zijn. En dan
dat vervelende huiswerk nog! Haastig dronk hij zijn glas melk leeg.

Mijnheer van der Zande begon weer een nieuw verhaal over
Indische huizen en Indische tuinen. Eduard luisterde maar half, maar
opeens begon hij 't zelf ook leuk te vinden, en toen wilde hij er ook
dadelijk nog veel meer van weten en ging van alles vragen.
 Eindelijk stond Vader op. "Willen we nu maar eens naar de andere
kamer gaan?" stelde hij voor, "en ga jij dan boven aan 't werk, Pepi?"

[a60] Maar Pepi had niet veel zin. Aan Vaders arm liep hij mee naar
de studeerkamer. "Toe, nog eventjes," smeekte hij, "omdat 't uw
laatste dag is!"

Vader gaf geen antwoord, maar liet toch toe dat hij nog wat bleef
rond hangen. Een paar keer waarschuwde hij: "Kom, Pepi!" Want
mijnheer van der Zande was weer van onderwerp veranderd en had
het over groote orders van den laatsten tijd, en Vader zag duidelijk
dat Eduard er geen belang in stelde en zich verveelde. — "Kom,
Eduard, ga nu aan je huiswerk!" zei hij nog eens; maar toen de
jongen eindelijk lastig werd en met propjes papier door de kamer
begon te knippen raakte zijn geduld op, en plotseling viel hij mijnheer
van der Zande in de rede met een boos: "Eduard, ga nu onmiddellijk
naar boven; je hoeft niet weer beneden te komen voor ik je roep."

Een benauwende stilte volgde, en heel verschrikt zag Eduard zijn

Vader aan; toen stond hij langzaam op en liep aldoor naar den grond
kijkend de kamer uit, zijn handen in zijn zakken. — Pas toen hij de
trap opging hoorde hij in de studeerkamer weer praten.

Vader boos, en dat op den laatsten dag! Was dat nu zoo erg, dat hij
eens eventjes met een propje schoot? Die akelige mijnheer van der
Zande ook, 't was allemaal z i j n schuld, als die niet gekomen was
zou hij nu prettig met Vader bezig zijn aan 't koffertje of iets anders,
en nu moest hij hier alleen op de slaapkamer zitten — met een ruk
trok hij zijn tasch op [a61] tafel en schudde zijn boeken en schriften
er uit. Och, hij had immers ook zoowat niks te doen, het grootste
deel van zijn sommen had hij gisterenavond al gemaakt, juist om
vandaag niet veel te hebben; 't waren net nog twee korte dingetjes,
die waren in een wip klaar. Maar dat gaf nou allemaal niks, want
naar beneden gaan mocht hij toch niet.

Kom, er nu maar niet meer aan denken en schrijven.

 Maar telkens dwaalden zijn gedachten weer af, en telkens vergiste
hij zich, en toen de sommen eindelijk klaar waren zagen ze er slordig
en knoeierig uit. — 't Kon Eduard niets schelen en ongeduldig
schoof hij alles op zij. — Toen zette hij zijn ellebogen op tafel, liet zijn
hoofd in zijn handen leunen en keek naar buiten.

Dat was nu bijna voor 't laatst dat hij al die tuinen en daken zoo
zag. — Morgenochtend misschien nog even, en dan in vier maanden
niet meer. — En [a64] vannacht zouden Vader en hij hier ook voor 't
laatst samen slapen en morgen — dan was Vader al heel ver weg en
zou 's nachts in Bazel ergens in een vreemd hotel slapen, en hij zelf
zou bij Tante Lina zijn, ook in een vreemd kamertje en in een vreemd
bed. — Niets geen gezellig huis was dat van Tante Lina, met al die
groote kamers, 't was hier thuis toch veel prettiger en gezelliger. Wat
zou 't gek leeg zijn, als hier nu morgenavond niemand meer in de
kamer kwam, en beneden ook, in de huiskamer, en in Vaders kamer,
wat zou 't overal akelig leeg en donker en koud zijn. — Hoe lang zou
Vader er nu nog zijn, 't was nu bijna drie uur, en morgenochtend om
kwart voor negen ging Vader weg, dat was dus nog twaalf, en nog
zes, nog achttien uur, bijna. En nu zat die mijnheer van der Zande,
die Vader nog vier heele maanden zien kon, en die 't bovendien niks
schelen kon of hij vader zag of niet, aldoor maar gezellig beneden te
praten, en hij zelf moest hier alleen boven zitten. — Hoe lang zou
dat nu nog duren?

En uit medelijden met zichzelf kwamen de tranen hem in de oogen;

maar hij veegde ze haastig weg, en keek toen weer stil naar buiten.

En zoo zat hij nog toen Vader om drie uur naar boven kwam om
hem te roepen. — Zachtjes trok Vader het hoofd van zijn jongen
achterover en keek hem aan, en weer voelde Eduard zijn oogen
vochtig worden.

"Ik vind 't zoo naar dat u boos werdt!" fluisterde [a65] hij, "maar 't
kwam allemaal door mijnheer van der Zande, als die niet gekomen
was ..."

"Nee vent, dat weet je wel beter, ik had je genoeg gewaarschuwd,

je hadt niets meer te doen beneden, en als ik je dan drie, vier keer
zeg naar boven te gaan moet je het ook doen; en ik wil nu wel
gelooven dat je het niet prettig vondt dat mijnheer van der Zande er
was, maar daarom mag je toch niet onbeleefd zijn, en dat propjes
schieten kwam heelemaal niet te pas; zul je dat nu voortaan
onthouden?"

Eduard knikte. "Maar nu bent u toch niet boos meer, is 't wel
Vader?"

"Nee, ik ben nu niet meer boos. Ga nu maar gauw je jas

aantrekken, dan gaan we mijnheer van der Zande naar den trein
brengen."

Eduard trok zijn ijsmuts over de ooren toen ze buiten kwamen. 't
Was koud, vriezend weer. — "Hoe is 't mogelijk, we gingen al haast
naar de lente toe, en nu weer zoo'n kou, we krijgen bepaald nog ijs!"
hoorde hij mijnheer van der Zande zeggen. Toen holde Eduard
vooruit naar 't bosch. Een helder winterzonnetje deed de witte
sneeuwplekken, die hier in 't bosch na de laatste sneeuwbui nog niet
waren weggedooid, glinsteren. — Eduards verdriet van straks was
vergeten, en voor een half uurtje dacht hij er niet aan dat het Vaders
laatste dag was, en dat het de eerstvolgende keer, dat hij hier weer
met Vader zou wandelen, midden in den zomer zou zijn.

[a66] Telkens holde hij een zijweg in, om dan opeens weer uit een
klein laantje te voorschijn te schieten en een pas of tien rustig naast
de beide heeren verder te wandelen, die druk in gesprek hun weg
vervolgden; dan rende hij weer vooruit om even verder over een
bank te springen.

"Wel Kerner, die jongen van jou lijkt wel onvermoeid!" zei mijnheer
van der Zande eindelijk. "Wat een levenslust!" en tegen Eduard, die
weer hijgend aan kwam loopen: "Word je niet moe, baas?"

"Nee mijnheer, heelemaal niet!" lachte Eduard, "maar nu blijf ik toch

eens een beetje hier!" En hij stak zijn hand door Vaders arm.

[a67]

IV.
 "Meneer, alles is klaar, zal ik nu maar heengaan? En dan breng ik
meteen het restje van Edu z'n goed naar mevrouw Verhey."

Vader liet zijn koffertje, waar nog een paar vergeten dingen
ingeperst werden, in den steek.

"Is alles klaar, Rika? En achter alles gesloten ook? Mooi, dan zal ik
zoo meteen nog wel even gaan zien. — Ja, dan zou ik nu maar
weggaan," en op een pak in de gang wijzend: "is dat alles wat nog
voor Eduard weggebracht moet worden?"

"Ja meneer, het andere is gisterenavond gegaan."

"Mooi, mooi. — Nou Rika, 't ga je goed hoor, tot over vier
maanden!"

"Ja meneer. Dag meneer, goeie reis!"

"Dank je. Dag Rika!"

Eduard ging mee om Rika uit te laten. "'k Zal vast aan je Tante
vertellen wat voor een lastpost ze in haar huis krijgt," beloofde ze.

"Dat zeg je nou wel, maar dat doe je toch niet!" lachte Eduard, "je
durft het niet eens! Dag ouwe [a70] Rika!" En toen ze de deur al uit
was nog eens "Dag ouwe Rika!"

Toen liep hij weer naar de huiskamer terug en bleef stil staan kijken
terwijl Vader de riemen van het koffertje dicht gespte. 't Was 't laatste
stuk van Vaders bagage; de groote koffer was de vorige week al
weggegaan, en twee kleinere stonden nog in de gang om straks
boven op de vigelante getild te worden. 't Handkoffertje zou Vader bij
zich houden.

"Afgeloopen," zei Vader, toen de riemen vast waren, en hij keek

Eduard aan. — "En nu gaan we weer verder," en hij nam 't koffertje
op om het in de gang bij de andere te zetten.
 En toen begon een tocht door het huis; 't was een van de akeligste
tochten, die Eduard ooit gemaakt had. — Aldoor zwijgend liep hij
met Vader mee, bezochten ze alle kamers om de beurt, en terwijl
Vader keek of de ramen goed dicht waren, en de kasten sloot, moest
Eduard steeds maar denken aan dat vreeselijke oogenblik, dat nu al
zoo vlak bij was, het oogenblik, dat Vader weg zou rijden, dat hij
Vader niet meer zien zou, voor vier lange maanden, voor een
vreeselijk langen tijd, waaraan bijna geen eind zou komen.

Vaders eigen kamer was het laatst aan de beurt, en daar borg
Vader de sleutels weg. — "Ga je aankleeden, Pepi," zei hij, "je moet
naar school toe, het rijtuig zal mij wel dadelijk komen halen." En toen
hij merkte dat Eduard maar heel stil dicht bij [a71] hem bleef staan
en hem aldoor strak aanzag, keek hij zijn jongen diep in de oogen en
zei zacht: "zul je voorzichtig zijn, Pepi? Zul je maken dat ik over vier
maanden een gezonden, vroolijken jongen terugvind?"

Eduard knikte, maar zonder iets te zeggen. — En aldoor bleef hij

Vader maar aankijken.

Toen klonk in de verte het geluid van wielen; dichter en dichter bij
kwam het. Eduard ging naar het raam; "het rijtuig," zei hij. —

Voor de deur hield het stil. —

Toen werd er gebeld, Vader liep de gang in en zette zijn hoed op,
en opende toen de voordeur om den koetsier aanwijzingen te geven
voor het opladen van de koffers. Toen trok Vader zijn jas aan, nam
die van Eduard van den kapstok, en kwam weer binnen.

Eduard stond nog voor het raam, en Vader ging naar hem toe en
heesch hem in zijn jas. — En toen .... "Vader, Vader!" snikte Eduard,
en hij klemde zijn armen om Vaders hals.

"Mijn kleine Eddy!" Even liet Vader zijn jongen nog tegen zich
aanleunen en klopte hij hem zacht op den rug. Toen maakte hij zich
los, en Eduards hoofd tusschen zijn handen nemende kuste hij hem
voor 't laatst.