Page 78 of Scarred in Silence

* * *

Dante thumbs through the manila envelope. Photos spill onto the table—Polaroids: scared girls cuffed in wooden chairs, numbers on placards.

A long-haired brunette with tear-stained cheeks. Blonde twins, one unconscious. Another photo: Astra… disoriented, bruised, number 47 pinned to her slip. She lies on a mattress unconscious.

My vision tunnels. I can taste metal—anger so thick it’s tangible.

Dante spreads the ledger: names, dates, lot numbers, initials. Every sixth page:MCscribbled in Damien’s old handwriting. Midas. Crowe. My hands shake.

Silas’s voice is a cracked whisper. “Nicolette cherry-picks the broken ones. Girls nobody will miss. She gets a cut, enough to fund whatever life she wants.”

“A masquerade of philanthropy,” I sneer.

He nods frantically. “Miles gets paid per head transported. Enrique per mile for drugs and routing. Damien—he skimmed off the top and bottom.”

Dante closes the ledger gently, as if it’s a holy text. When he speaks, his voice is soft, lethal. “Lucien. I want blood.”

“So do I.”

* * *

The smell hits me first—rot and rusted iron. Victor’s corpse slumps in the corner, exactly where I left him. His arms are gone. Legs are gone. Completely unrecognizable. Guts spilled. The room reeks of death and consequence.

But tonight isn’t about Victor. It’s about the other two.

It’s three in the morning, and I’m out for blood.

Nicolette and Varek hang chained in the X position against the far wall, opposite each other, wrists pulled taut above their heads, ankles bound wide. Blood crusts along Nicolette’s lip. Varek’s breathing is shallow. Neither of them speaks when I enter.

Dante steps in behind me, silent. A blade in one hand and a black case in the other. He doesn’t need to ask if I’m ready.

“Let’s start with you,” I say, my eyes fixed on Nicolette.

Her mascara’s long since run down her cheeks. She’s barefoot, shivering in nothing but a ripped black slip dress. Even now, she tries to hold on to her pride. It only makes me want to skin it from her bones.

“I want every fucking name,” I growl.

“Every girl you lured. Every club you touched. Every lie you told Astra.”

She doesn’t answer. So I slap her hard enough that her head cracks the concrete behind her. She gasps. Still silent.

Dante walks over to Varek and jabs a syringe into his thigh—something to wake him up, just enough. Varek jerks violently, choking on his breath.

I return my attention to Nicolette.

“You knew what they were doing to her,” I whisper. “You fucking drugged her. Stripped her. Let Miles rape her. Sold her.”

“She begged for it,” Nicolette spits. “You think she’s innocent? That little bitchlikedthe attention. She liked being a victim.”

I punch her in the gut. Hard. She folds forward in her chains, coughing blood.

“You sold my girl like she was nothing,” I say. “And for what? A payout? Power?”

“She was broken already,” she wheezes. “I just handed her over.”

“You didn’t hand her over,” Dante says from behind her. “You hunted her.”

I nod.