Page 20 of Nick (The Moonstone Pack #4)

THE STENCH OF DAMP earth and her own blood was the first thing Sarah registered, acutely aware of the pain that crawled over her body.

Bound to a rough wooden chair in the center of the cave, she could feel every bruise pulsating with pain, every cut stinging as though salt had been poured into it. The gag in her mouth was soaked with saliva, making it difficult for her to swallow.

She tried to shift, but the silver chains biting into her wrists and ankles, drawing fresh lines of agony across her skin, kept her in her human form.

Sarah’s long dark hair hung in matted tendrils, sticking to the sweat on her brow and cheeks. Each shallow breath was a struggle against the tightness around her chest.

This was not how she was meant to end—not here, not at the hands of such cruelty.

And I won’t end here , she vowed silently.

She would survive this.

For Nick, for their child, for herself.

The wooden beams overhead creaked ominously as a door scraped open, announcing Vincent’s arrival. The alpha’s imposing frame filled the doorway, his dark hair and pale skin making him appear like a specter conjured from the shadows.

His lips twisted into a sadistic smile as he approached Sarah, his eyes glinting.

“Still holding on, are we, Sarah?” His voice echoed off the cave walls. “You know, your resilience is starting to get boring. It would be so much easier if you just gave in.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, even as fear clawed inside her.

She wanted to spit insults back at him, to tell him that he would never break her, but the gag turned her words into nothing more than muffled sounds.

Her silence seemed to amuse him further.

“Ah, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Vincent leaned in close enough for her to smell his fetid breath. “Or perhaps you’re finally realizing there’s no one coming for you. No knight in shining armor to save the damsel in distress.”

He reached out, tracing a finger down her cheek, where a deep bruise was blossoming.

Sarah flinched involuntarily but held his gaze.

She couldn’t speak, but her glare shouted louder than any words she could muster. She would not let this monster see her fear.

Vincent’s smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a flash of irritation. He straightened up, stepping back from Sarah with a sneer.

“Your time is running out, sweetheart,” he said, menace threading through his voice. “Sooner or later, you’ll wish you had given up the information when you had the chance.”

As if she would ever name other pack members when Vincent demanded to know who’d been conspiring against him.

Turning on his heel, Vincent left the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding thud.

Sarah sagged against her restraints, allowing herself a moment to feel her situation.

But only a moment.

She would endure, she would escape, and she would have her vengeance. For now, she clung to the hatred that seared through her veins like a lifeline, fueling her will to fight another day.

The door creaked open again, admitting a fresh wave of dread along with Gregory Torrance, Vincent’s right hand, who stepped into the dimly lit cave, his broad shoulders casting an ominous shadow across the dirt floor.

“Ready for another round?” Gregory’s voice was cold, almost clinical, as if he was discussing a routine task rather than the infliction of pain. Vincent followed him in.

As Vincent stood by, arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips, Gregory unfurled a leather whip with a practiced flick of his wrist. The sound reverberated off the damp walls, a foreboding promise of agony to come.

With the first lash, pain exploded across Sarah’s back, white-hot and blinding. She bit down hard on the gag, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

They alternated between whip and fire, the latter crackling from a handheld device that scorched her skin, leaving welts and burns that stung with every shallow breath she took.

The pain was relentless, an assault on her senses, testing the limits of her endurance.

As the torture intensified, Sarah’s mind raced alongside her pounding heartbeat. She forced herself to focus beyond the pain, to observe her captors for any sign of weakness.

Vincent’s posture was relaxed, the alpha too sure of his control over the situation. Gregory, engrossed in his work, failed to notice anything beyond the pain he inflicted. They were overconfident, and Sarah clung to that knowledge—a potential chink in their armor.

Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the wooden beams, the placement of the door, the tools of torment neatly arranged on a rusted table nearby.

There must be something, some oversight they had made, something she could use to her advantage. Her gaze landed on the shackles binding her wrists, the metal worn and old. If she could just…

“Look at her,” Vincent said, breaking into her thoughts with a taunting laugh. “Still holding on to hope. It’s pathetic.”

Gregory chuckled darkly, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Stubbornness can be quite entertaining.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched tighter.

And as the two men continued their monstrous game, Sarah silently vowed to turn their entertainment into their undoing.

Vincent’s boot connected with Sarah’s side, and the world jolted. Pain splintered through her ribs, a white-hot lance that stole her breath. She hit the ground hard, the unforgiving stone floor of the cave biting into her bruised flesh.

The impact sent a shock wave of agony radiating through her battered body, but it also dislodged something vital from the chair—a loose nail, glinting dully in the dim light.

As she lay there, panting shallowly, Sarah’s gaze locked onto the nail. It was small, insignificant to any other eye, but to her, it was salvation—a weapon, a key, hope.

With every ounce of restraint, she suppressed the instinct to snatch it up immediately. Vincent and Gregory still loomed over her, their shadows cast by the flickering torchlight merging into one monstrous silhouette.

“Can’t take much more, can you?” Vincent sneered. Gregory’s throaty laugh echoed off the walls, a sinister soundtrack.

“Maybe we should let her wounds heal,” Gregory suggested, amusement curdling into strategy. “Wouldn’t want the fun to end too soon.”

“True,” Vincent agreed, his eyes never leaving Sarah’s prone form. “Let her stew in her misery for a while.”

As they turned to leave, Sarah allowed herself the smallest movement, pressing her cheek against the cool ground to cloak her motions. With meticulous care, she inched her hand toward the nail, her fingers brushing against the cold metal.

The door groaned shut behind Vincent and Gregory, and as silence settled over the cave, Sarah seized the nail with a quiet triumph. Just a piece of metal, but in her grasp, it became a declaration of war against her captors—against the cruelty of the Sunburst Pack.

She would not die here—not today, not at their hands.

The sharp edge of the nail bit into Sarah’s flesh as she clawed at her bindings, drawing the padlock up toward her hand.

Her body screamed in protest, but Sarah pushed through the pain.

She shoved the nail into the keyhole of the lock.

She began banging the lock against the floor, driving the nail in deeper and deeper, using what was left of her shifter strength until it gave way with a final, satisfying snap.

The nail skittered across the floor as the lock broke, and she stifled a cry of victory, knowing all too well that the true challenge still lay ahead.

Carefully, she unwound the silver chain, ignoring the silver burning against her skin until she was finally free.

The nail had fallen out of the broken lock, and Sarah grabbed it, slipping it into her pocket, though she couldn’t have said why.

Rubbing the raw, inflamed skin on her wrists, Sarah rose unsteadily to her feet. Adrenaline pulsed through her.

At the last second, she grabbed a knife from the table of bloody instruments.

Just in case I need it.

She took a moment to steady her breathing before opening the door and making her way out into the tunnels of the abandoned mine.

Sarah assessed the shadows around her, seeking an escape. She had to move; she had to find a way out before Vincent and Gregory returned.

Creeping forward, Sarah kept her steps cautious, mindful of any noise that could betray her. The dank air of the old mine clung to her, musty and thick. It was disorienting, the way the tunnels seemed to stretch endlessly, each one more foreboding than the last.

Closed-in spaces had never been her friend. Even the thought was enough to constrict her chest, to claw at her resolve with icy fingers. But fear was a luxury Sarah could not afford—not if she wanted to survive, not if she wanted to see daylight again.

Keep moving , she told herself. You’re a wolf, not a mouse.

With every step, she risked losing herself in the labyrinthine tunnels. But she would survive, dammit—she would find her way out.

She pressed on, the nail clutched in her hand—a talisman against the despair that sought to drag her down. As the tunnel began to slope upward, hope kindled within her chest.

There was a way out; there had to be.

Ahead, the faintest hint of light beckoned. Sarah hastened her pace, ignoring the dizziness that swirled in her vision.

Every fiber of her being strained toward freedom.

Toward vengeance.

The light grew stronger, and with it, Sarah’s determination.

She would emerge from this hell, escape the torturous grip of the mine.

She would find Nick.

And together, she promised herself, they would make sure Vincent and his henchmen could never torture anyone again.