Page 52

I let out a weary breath, taking small comfort in the normalcy of the world around me.

I start down the hall, my mind already racing with half-formed plans and fading regrets.

Should I have been more firm? Should I have insisted on pulling Scarlett out of this dark trajectory before it was too late?

But even as I ask myself those questions, I know the answer.

Scarlett isn’t someone you control, guide, or lead, at least not anymore.

If anything, she’s the one orchestrating this insanity now, and I’m caught in the undertow along with the rest of our sorry, twisted lives.

The clink of the hospital’s outdated ventilation system echoes through the halls as I tread lightly, willing myself to melt into the shadows. It’s better to disappear right now, to keep out of sight entirely.

I’ve almost reached the elevator when rough fingers wrap around my arm, yanking me violently into the dim recess of an intersecting corridor.

For a split second, my brain screams that it’s my brother and I brace myself for the incoming shitstorm. But it’s not Alexander’s hand on my arm.

Piercing blue eyes, cold and endless like a frozen sea lock onto mine.

He looms over me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“How is my daughter?” His voice is smooth, quiet, almost too even for the question, but the words cut through me like ice. There’s an edge of command in his tone, not of a father caring for his child, but rather of someone who controls outcomes, who measures lives in terms of worth and utility.

The world tilts on its axis as my brain struggles to catch up with what the icy realization implies. His daughter?

But of course. Of fucking course. Scarlett.

My eyes dart behind him as if I expect her to materialise right here before us both.

I’m too stunned to answer him right away. I see bleak recognition in his expression as he watches my face carefully, as though he’s already dissecting every muscle movement, every changing flicker in my eyes, probing me for something I’m not even sure I can hide.

“My daughter,” he repeats with a calmness that terrifies me more than any random outburst ever could.

There’s something lethal about his precision, the way his eyes drill into me, hollow in their stillness.

It’s the calm before an avalanche, a moment of quiet before an entire world collapses beneath its own weight.

He doesn’t move, not yet, but his hand tightens ever so slightly on my arm, his grip cold and unyielding.

“She’s recovering,” I finally manage to say, my throat tight and dry. It’s such a weak response, and I know it. He knows it, too. He makes no effort to conceal the small twist of amusement on his lips, a sharp, humourless thing.

“Recovering.” He muses, as if there’s a hidden meaning to that. “In that case, I’d say it’s time you and I had a little talk, Rafferty,” he says softly, but there’s nothing soft about the steely command. “Now.”

They drag us out. I don’t know what time it is. What day it is.

Alexander has his goons do all the heavy lifting while he’s no doubt waiting for us like a little emperor.

They made sure to drug me, to incapacitate me enough that I couldn’t fight them. My limbs are as good as useless, my body is a deadweight but my mind is there, it’s all fucking there.

The whimpers from Scarlett tell me that she’s in pain, that she’s still feeling the effects of what that machine, what Alexander too, has inflicted on her body.

I try to reassure her, to tell her that everything is going to be okay, but we’re so far from that.

Internally I curse myself, curse my stupidity. I should have taken her away. Should have scooped her up that day in the woods, should have taken her far from this place.

I should have saved her.

And it’s too late now. Far too fucking late.

We’re dumped in a room. Both of us dropped to the polished marble floor. With my arms tied around my back there’s nothing I can do to stop my face from slamming into it.

“One of our guests arrived early,” Alexander says, watching us from where he’s sat in that chesterfield like it’s a throne. “So we thought we’d have a little pre-party to get the celebrations going.”

“What celebrations?” Scarlett mutters.

Alexander’s lips pull into a smirk. “Why, your birthday celebrations, wife. It’s not every day you turn twenty five.”

She curses enough for us all to hear but the sound of approaching footsteps steals my attention.

I look over, seeing that familiar swagger as my father’s old friend walks towards us.

“No,” Scarlett whispers beside me.

I frown, glancing at her, wondering what she knows, when she’s met him before.

Sydney’s been in hiding for years so their paths should never have crossed.

He’s paranoid, convinced someone is hunting him.

My father thought he was going senile, that he was losing his wits, little did he know that he was right.

Someone is hunting him. Someone my family believes to be dead.

“You,” Scarlett mutters, shaking her head.

“What’s that darling?” Alexander drawls clearly still so amused.

“The chandelier, the ballroom…”

Christ, how much did they give her? How out of it is she?

Her lip trembles, she shakes more violently as Sydney comes to a stop before us. He squats down, putting his balding face right up into hers as he grabs her. “Have you missed me?” He asks as she starts screaming.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Clearly, she does know him, clearly something happened, something I wasn’t aware of.

“Pack it in,” Alexander says and one of his goons kicks Scarlett hard enough to silence her, before he offers Sydney a drink.

As they walk away, I try to ask her, try to understand what the hell this is, but she just shakes her and keeps repeating the word ‘chandelier’ over and over like that’s supposed to mean something.

My brother and Sydney stand, talking and laughing, as they drink their nice glasses of whiskey. But I can feel it, every time they look in our direction, every time they look at her, in particular.

My body may be broken, my limbs may be as good as useless right now but I will fight them, I will do whatever I have to do to stop them from hurting her.

“Put some music on,” Sidney says suddenly. “Anyone would think it was a funeral we’re at and not a birthday celebration.”

At his words the gramophone cackles to life. It’s an old-fashioned thing, another of my father’s precious heirlooms. The great brass horn is polished so brightly it looks like it almost rivals the sun.

The music whirls around, sounding distorted as it bounces off the great glass ceiling above our heads.

I look across at Scarlett again and I can see it, my own fear reflected in her beautiful eyes.

“We’re going to get through this.” I murmur. “We’re going to beat them.”

Her lip trembles. I can see the way she’s so broken. And I know I did this. I fucking failed her.

“Listen to me, Scarlett, you know what’s coming.

You know how this ends. We’re not the losers here.

And you’re strong, so fucking strong. Just play along, do what you have to.

And in a day’s time, it’ll be over. It’ll all be over.

And I’ll be there. I’ll pick up all your broken pieces, I’ll do whatever you need, be whoever you need me to be.

And we’ll be free of them, free of all of this… ”

She nods, her tears welling in her eyes. She opens her mouth to whisper back but Alexander clearly spots the interaction.

Something hard skitters across the floor. It smashes as it lands between us both and it sprays us with tiny shards of broken crystal. He threw a glass at us. His glass.

“Dance,” Alexander orders.

I look up at him, my eyes narrowing.

“This is a fucking party.” He snaps, clicking his fingers for his goons to spring into action. “I want to see my wife dance, want to watch her beautiful body sway one last time.”

The men behind us yank her up, forcing her to her feet. We can all see Scarlett can barely fucking stand by herself. How the hell is she meant to dance?

He holds out a pistol, aims at her toes and pulls the trigger.

Scarlett screams, falling back, landing on her arse. I try to get to her and am immediately held back.

She’s not bleeding. She’s cradling her feet like she can feel where the bullet must have just missed them.

“I said, fucking dance,” Alexander barks, pointing the gun once more.

She screws her face up but somehow gets back up and I can’t look as she starts swaying to the music.

Her naked body might be marred by blood and dirt and fuck knows what else but even now, she’s so damn beautiful it hurts.

I want to tell her to stop, to tell her to fight.

I don’t want any of these men looking at her, leering at her.

But who the fuck am I to say such things?

Who the fuck am I to suddenly be jealous, and of what?

It’s not like she wants to be here; not like she’s choosing to do this.

No, better she plays it safe, better she go for self-preservation than she does something stupid that ends up with her getting seriously hurt.

By my reckoning we have at least a few hours before the big event. I could be wrong. But then, why would Sidney risk arriving days early? We both just need to play our cards right and this time tomorrow, if there is a god, then we will be free of this, free of them.

Sydney and my brother sit down, lounging in the plump cushioned armchairs, watching every move she makes, discussing her, discussing her body, her breasts, her pussy too.

I turn my nose up, disgusted by it. God, I can’t wait to bury my knife in his throat. To rip out his oesophagus and watch as he slowly drowns on his own blood.

Scarlett stumbles, her legs wobble and she falls with her hands only just saving her from slamming face first into the polished floor.

“Get back up, whore.” Sydney orders.

“Leave her alone,” I growl.

She looks across at me, shakes her head and tries to stand. Only, she doesn’t have the strength.

“Wife…” Alexander says pointedly, lifting the revolver and aiming for her toes once more.

“Leave her alone,” I bellow. “Just fucking leave her alone,”

Alexander turns his eyes on me, his lips curling into a grin. “You want to play the hero, brother?” He taunts. “Alright then. I’d say the bitch has earned a rest.”

I don’t feel relief. Not from the tone of his voice. He’s planning something. He’s going to do something.

Scarlett crawls back, crawls as far as she can get from them both, that is until one of the guards slams his boot into her back, holding her in place.

“What do you say we have a different kind of entertainment?” Alexander says to Sydney.

Sydney glances at us then back at him, “Like what?”

“Well, my dear wife might be too tired to play, but my brother, he’s in peak condition, wouldn’t you say?”

Sydney’s head turns, his eyes lock onto me and his lips stretch into a grin that goes from ear to ear. “Are you suggesting…?”

“Help yourself.” Alexander says, waving his hand before taking a sip of whiskey. “I obviously will not partake, but he’s yours to do as you like for a few hours.”

My stomach drops. I’m not the kind of man that fears anything and yet, I know what this is, what they’re hinting at.

I snarl, lashing out, doing my best to fight, despite the drugs keeping my body as good as useless. Scarlett may be playing it safe, but I sure as fuck am not.

“Hold him down,” Sydney instructs as he approaches.

It takes three men, three fucking men to hold my limbs, to pin me in place, despite the fact that my arms are still bound behind my back. I’m held down, pressed down, but I feel the moment Sydney starts touching me.

“Get the fuck off me,” I snarl.

“Now, now, Rafferty,” Sydney cooes. “You wanted the girl to have a little rest, how else did you expect us to amuse ourselves?”

“You fucking dare…” But he’s undoing my belt, yanking my jeans down, exposing me .

I growl out, unable to show any other form of protest. My face is pressed to the cold marble, my spit is pooling there, wet against my face as I take more and more breaths.

And as I’m held down, I tell myself that this isn’t a big deal. That no matter what happens in this moment, Scarlett has had it so much worse. She’s endured this for months, fucking months. What’s one moment compared to all that?

Maybe I deserve this, I deserve this pain. I deserve to feel what it’s like to be violated like this because this is what my family have done to her while I stayed here, under this roof, pretending it wasn’t happening, pretending it was all just part of the greater plan.

I shouldn’t look, I should keep my eyes on the floor, away from her face but I can’t stop myself. And I see the horror there, the absolute horror reflected in those beautiful blue irises.

Sydney places his hands on me, on my hips, digging his boney fingers into my muscles and he thrusts into me in one brutal push.

My body fights him, my body refuses to give in and he forces his way into me while I do everything I can not to show how much this fucking hurts. And it does fucking hurt.

“Such a pretty body,” Sydney murmurs in my ear. “So many strong muscles…” He runs his hand up my stomach, my abdomen, feeling me up like I’m some object to enjoy.

“Fuck you,” I snarl back.

He groans, thrusting that bit harder. “Oh I am, and I’m definitely enjoying it.”

I shut my eyes, clench my fists, try to throw the bastard off me but the others are holding me too tightly.

I don’t know how I imagined this would feel, how it would be to know another person is in you, taking from you, taking bits they have no right to.

And all the while, you’re forced to just lie there, to allow it.

Parts of me, parts I didn’t even know could feel hurt like I’m being torn apart, like I’m being ripped in too. And the feel of him, the feel of his cock in there , the feel of his breath on my skin, his hands on me - it shatters something, it shatters it entirely.

But I can’t afford to give in. I can’t afford to break.

Scarlett. Scarlett needs me. Scarlett needs my help. If I let them win, if I let them beat me then I can’t save her, can I?

I realise then that I can hear her screaming, pleading. She sounds desperate, she sounds as broken as I feel in this moment.

I lift my head again, I lift my eyes to her and I want to tell her that it’s okay, that I can take this, that I’m happy to take this moment if it spares her – only, one of the other men, one of Alexander’s guards is undoing his own belt, is pulling his cock out.

I register it, register the action and he grabs my hair, his fingers snatching at the strands as he forces his dick down my throat.