My pulse stutters harder as he props it upright directly in front of me.
“Originally,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction through the balaclava, “I was going to tattoo it on you.” His eyes flick slowly down my body before returning to my face. “But I came to the conclusion that blood suits your skin tone better.”
Confusion hits first, then dread. My attention drops to the reflection before I can stop it. My thighs are smeared with dried blood, thin cuts carved across them in angry red streaks that still look brutally fresh. Words have been cut into my flesh, each letter raw and clear beneath the smeared blood.
THIS ISis slashed across my left thigh.
FOR REEDis carved into the right.
The room seems to tilt around me. Every trace of color drains from my face as I go rigid, breath catching behind the horror forcing its way up my throat. My attention locks onto the masked man, and I start shaking my head violently, over and over, hard enough to make the chains clatter against the ceiling track.
No.
No, no, no.
He laughs softly, the sound low and ugly in the room.
“So you do remember Reed,” he says. “And here we were thinking you were just another selfish little princess who only cared about money and status.”
Cain remains quiet on the sofa, but I feel his attention on me all the same. The masked man lifts the mirror away before I can force myself to look again and carries it to the wall, leaving it there at an angle where I can still see flashes of my own reflection if I move too much. Then he turns back to me and steps so close I instinctively try to recoil.
“I’m going to take that gag off,” he says, gloved fingers brushing the strap behind my head. “If you promise not to scream.” Silence stretches between us for a beat before darkness curls beneath the calmness in his tone. “Then again, scream if you want. All you’ll do is ruin your throat. No one can hear you, kitten, so don’t waste the effort.”
The buckle loosens, the strap slides free from behind my head, and he drags the gag from between my teeth with a slow pull that leaves my jaw throbbing and my mouth aching, as fresh air hits skin rubbed raw beneath it. Air tears into my lungs in uneven pulls while I cough helplessly around the ache in my throat, my jaw still trembling from being forced open for so long. My chest heaves once more before I force the words out.
“It wasn’t my fault.” My voice comes out hoarse and thin, barely more than breath. Shame burns hotter than the cuts on my thighs as I swallow and try again. “I told Vince to stop. He wouldn’t listen.”
The change in Cain is instant. He is off the sofa before the last word fully leaves my mouth, the glass hitting the table hard enough to crack against the wood. Whatever calm he wore until now vanishes so completely it feels like watching another man step into his skin.
“But you enjoyed it.” Something vicious slips through the words as he steps closer. “You laughed the whole time.”
“I didn’t…”
“Don’t you fucking dare!” He stops directly in front of me, jaw tight, eyes lit with anger that looks ancient, like it’s been rotting inside him for years.
The chain above me shifts when I instinctively pull back, but there is nowhere to go. Behind him, the masked man lets out alow chuckle and moves to my side, close enough that I feel the heat of him against the cold room.
“You always had fun at his expense, kitten,” he says softly. “Every joke, every look, every little performance for the people around you.” His gloved hand brushes lightly over my hip, almost absentmindedly. “But that’s alright.”
I turn my head toward him, breath catching when his fingers curl around the chain above me.
“Every bully becomes prey eventually.” His voice softens into something disturbingly pleased. “You just had the bad luck of being hunted by two.”
The words settle into the room, and with them, every broken piece finally locks into place—the forest, the bridge, the chains, the carved skin, the hatred in their eyes.
None of it was random.
None of it was madness.
This was never about hurting me for pleasure.
This is… revenge.
Chapter 23
HIM
For years I imagined this moment so many different ways that it stopped feeling real somewhere along the line. It became a ritual instead, something I fed whenever the nights got too quiet and Reed’s face came back sharper than sleep could dull.
