Page 44 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

Pain is the first thing I feel.

Not sharp, but deep—a dull, all-consuming ache that pulses through every inch of my body. My limbs are heavy. My head throbs like I was hit by a truck. My mouth is dry. My skin, clammy.

I try to shift—but I can’t.

My wrists don’t move.

Panic spikes instantly, slicing through the fog of my mind. I blink through the blur, my vision adjusting in jerky frames. There’s a ceiling above me. Beige. A cheap fan spinning above, slow and lazy.

I look down.

Zip ties.

My wrists are zip-tied to the headboard.

My breath hitches and, for a moment, the room spins.

But then—thank God—my clothes are still on. Yoga pants. Hoodie. Damp from the shower, clinging to my skin.

Tears prick my eyes, but I force them down. Don’t panic . I scan the room.

It’s… familiar. The beige carpet. The tacky wall art. The awful smell of industrial cleaner and stale air freshener. And then it hits me—

This is one of Randy’s family’s hotels.

I’ve been in one of these before. They all have the same cheap furniture, the same soulless decor meant to feel expensive but built to be disposable.

I tug at the zip ties again—harder—but they just tighten around my wrists, biting deep into my skin. Sharp plastic slices the delicate flesh there, warm blood trickling down to my forearms.

I grit my teeth to keep from crying out.

Think, Laney. Think.

I hear water.

Then the door to the bathroom creaks open.

And I freeze.

Randy walks out, steam curling behind him. He’s wearing only a towel slung low around his hips, his dark blond hair wet, skin glistening with beads of water. He runs a hand through it, slow and casual, like he just stepped out of a spa.

And then he sees me.

His eyes land on mine.

And his mouth twists into a slow, twisted smile.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “Sleeping Beauty finally decided to wake up.”

My heart is a cannon in my chest. I go completely still, forcing my face into something unreadable even as terror claws at the inside of my throat.

His eyes scan me—lingering. Possessive.

But what makes my stomach turn is the calmness. The pleasure in his expression. Like he’s been waiting for this. Like it’s all part of some sick fantasy.

“You were out for a while,” he says, stepping closer. “I was starting to think I’d overdone it.”

I don’t speak. I won’t give him anything.

He sits on the edge of the bed, just out of reach, that smug smile still plastered across his face. “You don’t have to be scared. I didn’t touch you. Not yet.”

My stomach flips.

He watches me squirm, eyes narrowing like he’s savoring it.

“You always thought you were too good for me,” he murmurs. “But look at you now. Right where you belong.”

I don’t scream.

I don’t cry.

I look him dead in the eye and say, voice like steel, “Eddie is going to kill you.”

That smile falters, just for a second but it’s enough.

The second Randy’s smile twists, something cold slithers through my veins. It’s not surprise. It’s not even fear, not fully. It’s recognition.

This—him—is exactly who he’s always been. I just didn’t want to see it before.

“You look different,” he says, tilting his head, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to reassemble. “More color in your skin and you changed your hair. Thought you didn’t care about that stuff when we were together.”

I stay silent. I don’t tell him I have more color because I’m eating better, and I’m finally able to step outside and enjoy the outdoors now I’m not his slave. I want to, god do I, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.

He gestures to the tattoo on his shoulder—the one I convinced him to get after our breakup. My little revenge. A reminder to everyone exactly who he is. Now it’s something else entirely. Covered. Blurred out by some amateur blackwork job.

“You think that was funny?” he sneers. “Telling me it was a couples thing while laughing behind my back? I trusted you, Laney.”

I stare at him, defiant even with my wrists bound and skin burning.

“You treated me like a joke, Laney,” he spits. “And after everything I gave you. After everything I put up with.”

I laugh. Bitter. Sharp. “Put up with? You mean like when you made me pay your rent while you sat on your ass playing video games?”

“I was between jobs,” he growls.

“For a year.”

“I treated you like a damn queen!” he explodes, standing abruptly. “I let you stay in my place. I told my family about you!”

“Right,” I shoot back. “And they hated me because I didn’t know how to cook for ten people on Sundays. Because I didn’t ‘know my place’ because they worked me to the bone and it still wasn’t enough. Because you told them I was the problem every time we fought.”

He paces now, fast, jaw clenched, fists flexing at his sides. “You owed me loyalty. You owe me.”

“You controlled me,” I say. My voice is shaking, but I don’t stop. “You made me believe I was lucky to have you. Like I couldn’t do better. You ran me down until I didn’t even recognize myself.”

“I loved you!” he shouts.

“You cheated on me.”

His mouth curls into something ugly. “You were cold. Distant. Like touching me was some goddamn chore.”

I flinch but stay still.

“Every guy does it,” he says, waving a hand. “Grow the hell up.”

“No,” I say, eyes blazing. “Real men don’t cheat. Real men protect. They don’t tear you apart to feel bigger.”

He narrows his eyes. “You talking about that country music star prick?”

I don’t answer. He knows.

He takes a step closer, heat rolling off him like a threat. “You think he loves you?”

I look him dead in the eye. “He does. And you know what else? He’s coming for me.”

The air in the room shifts. His smile vanishes and he lunges.

I brace.

He grabs the front of my hoodie, yanking it hard, the seams stretching. “I’ll show you what a real man looks like,” he snarls.

I thrash, twisting hard, planting both feet on the mattress and kicking with everything I have. He stumbles back, cursing, but recovers fast.

“You want to fight me?” he hisses. “You want to talk back now?”

He reaches for the nightstand.

A flash of metal.

My heart jackknifes in my chest.

He raises something small and sharp. A pocketknife.

He comes back toward me, kneeling on the bed, gripping the fabric of my hoodie, blade pressed to the edge.

“You always liked your little speeches,” he breathes, eyes wild. “Let’s see what you sound like when you’re not so pretty.”

“Do it,” I spit, fury overriding fear now. “Cut my clothes. Humiliate me. Hurt me. But you’re not breaking me, Randy. I’ve lived in your darkness before. I’m not staying there.”

He flinches. Just barely. But I see it.

“You think he’s coming? You think anyone’s gonna save you?”

“I know he is.”

Because Eddie loves me. Because I know him.

And because if there’s breath in his body, he’ll burn the world down before letting this be the end.

Randy grips the fabric tighter.

I twist, kick again, scream loud enough to make the walls shake. I don’t care who hears. Let them hear. Because I may be zip-tied to this bed but I’m not a victim. And I’m not giving up.

Randy’s grip tightens, his knuckles white around the handle of the knife as he kneels over me.

I wait with my heart in my throat and my muscles coiled.

He leans forward, pressing the blade to my hoodie, eyes wide and flickering with something unstable. “You think you’re some goddamn queen now, huh?” he hisses. “Think you’re too good for me because some famous piece of shit told you you’re worth something?”

I breathe slowly. Through my nose. I wait.

“Eddie fucking Crowe,” he snarls. “He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t know what you look like when you cry. What your voice sounds like when you beg.”

That’s it.

I snap.

I twist my hips hard and bring my knee up with everything I have left in me. A raw, animal effort. The angle is tight, but I catch him right across the jaw.

There’s a crack—his teeth clacking together—and he shouts in rage and reels backward.

The knife clatters to the floor beside the bed.

My pulse explodes in my ears.

“You bitch!” he roars.

He launches himself at me—not with the cold, controlled cruelty from earlier, but something worse. Unhinged. Wild. Like the mask finally slipped and all that’s left is rage.

“You ruined my fucking life!” he screams, fists slamming down into the mattress beside me, barely missing my side. “You humiliated me. My family blames me! Said I should’ve handled you. That I let a good-for-nothing girl ruin their name!”

“You did that yourself!” I shout, twisting against the zip ties, my wrists burning. “You made your own choices. You were cruel. Lazy. You lost everything!”

He grabs my shoulders and shakes me, spittle flying as he growls, “I gave you everything, and you left like I was nothing! Like I didn’t matter!”

“You don’t!” I scream. “You never did!”

That breaks him. His fist swings wide and lands across my cheekbone, hot white pain flaring behind my eye. My head snaps sideways, stars bursting in my vision.

I gasp. Grit my teeth.

Stay awake.

Stay present.

He hits me again, roaring, “You think you’re better than me?! You think you can talk to me like that?!”

I taste blood in my mouth. Another strike—my ribs this time. I cry out, pain splintering through my side.

“You belonged to me, Laney!” he growls. “You were mine! You don’t walk away from that!”

I choke on the pain. My body screams. My head feels like it’s floating above me.

But somewhere in the storm, I cling to a single thread.

He’s coming.

Eddie’s coming.

If I can just hold on a little longer… if I can just stay awake… stay conscious… then everything he’s doing right now will be his last mistake.

Randy’s panting now, hair hanging in his eyes, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts.

“Why couldn’t you just love me?” he snarls, breath hot against my ear.

And even now, even here—my voice is hoarse but solid. “Because you don’t know how.”