Broken Truths: Pretty Little Dead Girl Book 3

They call them broken. They call them bad. I call them mine.

What we have is more powerful than the all the Knights combined.

Or at least, I hope so…because they haven’t stopped.

Those in power seek to take me down, to use me like I’m just an asset. They want to whittle me down until I comply…

I won’t.

I refuse to stop until my sister’s murderer is brought to justice. Until I get to walk away from the elite world, forever linked to three men whose hearts are bigger than I ever expected.

It’s time to show the Knights what we’re made of…together. 

Prologue

Sir Franklin Jarvis

Blood of my blood.

Kin of my kin.

Bane of my very existence.

My grandson tilts his chin in the air as I approach, his dark eyes flashing in challenge.

Stubborn defiance.

I purposefully slow my stride. Delaying the inevitable. Making him sweat. I want him to fear me. In the length of time it takes me to get to him, I want him to be shitting himself wondering how I’m going to get my Pound of Flesh.

The cavernous room darkens while I leisurely take my place at the front of the line. The torches and my fellow brother Knights fade as I search the face in front of me for a hint of something—anything—to be proud of.

Leonardo has the eyes of a Jarvis. Like my grandfather’s, they’re cold and cruel. But he has his mother’s soft features. One could call it beauty, but I label it a hindrance. As if his physical traits weren’t bad enough, he has the feeble mind of both his parents.

Their union was doomed from the start. Leonardo’s father could never take charge, and certainly not with her. The only reason I sanctioned the match was because her family had enough money…

And.

The.

Tits.

Those glorious fucking tits.

From the very first moment my boy brought her into our house, I homed in on those delectable mounds, picturing them spilling over my palms as I fucked her. I was surprised to find they were real when I first took her. Just sweet, sweet, yielding flesh.

I find myself smirking at the memory. Like the timid, weak-minded man my son was, he never told her what was expected. Admittedly, her shock made our first encounter that much better—for me.

Her cries for my son turned to whimpers while his fists banged on the door. I came like a king that day, claiming her with my seed while my fingers gripped those luscious mounds.

The cunt ruined them eventually. Right before she blew her brains out, she sliced her best features to shit, marring them as if that last act of defiance would bother me.

It didn’t. I hired a makeup artist to perfect them so my last fondle was practically as good as the first, albeit a little colder.

No one tops me.

Standing in front of me now is another example of treachery. I’m almost impressed by the stubborn tilt of my grandson’s chin as he awaits his punishment. Staging his father’s death hadn’t broken him.

It’s a good sign, but his reluctance to bow to authority isn’t.

He will submit to me.

In my years of experience, I’ve found that weak minds like Leonardo’s need a…rearranging of sorts. Constant action that shows him who’s in charge will achieve the desired outcome—obedience.

He’s good muscle, but he can be so much more than an errand boy if he’d just give in. There are only two things he needs to come to terms with: One, I am his master.

Two, Jarvis above everything—and everyone—else.

The fact that Fledgling Astor pulled some strings to get Leonardo here means he could be doing something right. Or something very, very wrong.

Either way, a reminder of his loyalty couldn’t hurt.

I eye the tray of tools that have been placed to my right. Scanning the blades, I spot the perfect one. Not too big. I’m not doing this to inflict physical pain. I need something sharp, agile.

The black handle fits perfectly in my grip, the blade glimmering in the torch light as I inspect its sharp edge.

Yes, this will do.

I step up to my grandson, holding his attention. He hasn’t once dropped his dark gaze to look at the knife in my hand.

Bravery… I like it.

I won’t bother asking him where his loyalty lies this time. I’ll just prove it.

Using his sternum as a foundation, I carve my initials into his chest deep enough to scar, but not deep enough that it looks haphazard.

FJ.

Like a property ledger, I’m claiming my assets.

Rivulets of crimson rise to the surface and seep through the cuts. I place my tool back on the tray while admiring my handiwork. “There.” I smile at him. “I must say, Leonardo, that’s the best permanent marking you have on your body yet.”

He peers down. When he spots my mark, his whole body locks up, his jaw hardening to stone.

Admittedly, I hate his garish tattoos, but there’s something to be said for doing the marking.

I’m like the child who wants to write his name on everything he owns.

Leonardo Jarvis is not only mine to do with what I want, he’ll soon learn that was always the case.

Now, I just have to find out what’s really going on between him and Eden Astor.