Twelve
“Isn’t this a pretty picture?” Alabaster sneered.
His long white hair fell past his shoulders. His eyes reminded her of Orrin’s, if Grace could overlook their lack of warmth. His gloved hands rested on the head of his black cane.
And given the fact that Grace was shackled on her knees, he had no choice but to look down on her.
He seemed to enjoy that part.
“All you had to do was leave me the hell alone,” Khan said, his voice regretful. “But you and your i***t husband just couldn’t stop yourselves, could you?”
Grace said nothing. There were no words for the hate rolling through her. No words for the anger, its raw, fiery heat burning her from the inside out.
This bastard had killed her husband, her son, and now he stood above her for the sole purpose of gloating.
“You’re goin
