Page 123 of Beneath Scarred Vows

No. I've been hearing things for hours. My mind playing tricks, giving me hope only to snatch it away again. It's just Sebastian and his men, probably drinking, celebrating. But if I'm really lucky, maybe one of them is choking on his food.

Then, more voices. Muffled, but unmistakable. Shouting.

I force myself to swallow, my throat painfully dry.

More footsteps overhead, heavier this time, like someone is running. The ceiling creaks.

Something shatters upstairs—it sounds like glass, lots of it. Bottles? A table? Then a crash. The sound of it instantly reminds me of how my bedroom windows exploded from the heat of the fire that forever changed me.

I push the memory away. I can only focus on one bad thing at a time.

More shouting now, and I'm almost certain I hear gunshots. Multiple gunshots. Some sound like firecrackers, others like mini booms.

Please let it be him.

I try to stand. If someone is coming, I'd rather they find me on my own two feet rather than slumped against the wall like a broken doll. Unfortunately, I can't move. The best I can do is sit up straight and blow the hair out of my face.

My heart beats so hard in my ribcage that I feel the pulsing in my temples. It's all grown louder now—I can't distinguish the individual sounds anymore; it's all merged into complete destruction above me. Something heavy hits the floor and for a second I think it'll come through the ceiling.

And then?—

The entire building seems to shake. A deafening boom rattles my teeth and I instinctively duck my head, turning away as best I can with my hands still secured behind me. An explosion. Not a grenade—bigger. The lightbulb hanging above my head flickersviolently, and fine particles of dust and debris shower down from the ceiling.

"Shit," I gasp, coughing as some of it enters my lungs.

The voices are closer now. I can almost make out words. I look around like I can actually move and hide somewhere. Panic and hope war inside me, my thoughts racing too fast to grab hold of any single one.

Did Sebastian bring reinforcements? Maybe an even bigger fish in the organized crime pool of Greece? What if no one wins upstairs, and I'm left here to slowly die, forgotten in this hole?

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath.

Another crash, closer this time. And then a sound that makes my blood freeze—a scream. Raw, agonized. Not Ares. Please, not Ares.

And then I hear it. It's faint and sounds like it's far away.

My name—"Katerina!"

There's so much commotion, it's hard to know for sure, but it has to be. Right?

"I'm here!" I cry out, my voice hoarse. "I'm down here! Help!"

I hear someone at the door. Metal scraping against metal—keys or a lock being fiddled with. My heart leaps into my throat. Could it be?

The zip ties dig deeper into my raw wrists as I straighten up, ignoring the pain shooting through my shoulders.

The door finally gives way with a rusty creak, and my world shatters all over again.

Sebastian Makris stumbles in, his expensive suit torn and stained, his face shiny with sweat. His once carefully styled hair now is messy and matted with blood or sweat—I can't tell.

The composed, self-assured man who hit me for the camera is gone. In his place stands someone frantic, disheveled, and unmistakably afraid.

He slams the door behind him and paces the small cellar, muttering to himself. He doesn't even look at me, like I've become irrelevant in whatever new crisis he's facing.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he mumbles, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead with a trembling hand. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted him. This was supposed to be clean. He lied."

I watch him silently, unsure what he'll do.

Something's gone terribly wrong for Sebastian, and from the sounds of chaos coming from all around us, I can guess what—or rather, who—that something is.