I’m too broken to fight.
Too angry to forgive.
And far, far too alone to ever believe in love again.
27
CARLOS
T he cold marble floors chatter with every step they take. Two of my father’s guards carrying Simon’s limp, broken body
across the room like he’s nothing. A discarded item.
I’m glued to the floor, unable to move, my brain not connecting with the rest of my body to function. I grind my teeth in frustration as I try to force myself to do something, say something, but my body refuses to obey.
Simon's head is lolled to the side, the angle unnatural. His back is red, welted and raw, like fire had kissed his skin and refuses to let go. One of the strikes has lacerated his skin from where blood runs down his back. His hands hang like a dead weight, his face pale, hair covered in sweat. I just watch them leave the room.
“Wow, you really are pathetic. How did it feel, Carlos, watching me hurt your little fuck boy? How does it feel to have no say here?” Enrico goads, and Lucas has to hold me back as I move forward to strangle the bastard.
“Enough, Enrico. Carlos, I will be waiting for you in my office. Don’t keep me waiting and come alone,” my father commands before striding out of the room with a giggling Enrico following him.
My stomach turns as something inside of me fractures. The message is clear and well received of the lengths my father will go to.
This was supposed to be control. A message. A warning. But all I can see is Simon—fierce, stubborn and impossible Simon completely broken and vulnerable. The wounds and blood are not even the worst of it, it's the way he didn’t move or try to fight back. He didn’t even notice any of us there after the second strike. I had to look away.
“Keep it together,” came Lucas’ voice from behind me—hard and low.
I don’t respond. Because all I want to do is shout and destroy everything around me. I want to kill and spill blood. But without back-up I’m a sitting duck. All I can do is watch and wait.
“We will end this, Carlos,” Lucas says, quieter and gentler.
Then I snap. I will end this.
“Find Mark and update him. Wait for me in my room.”
“Wait…are you sure this is a good idea, Carlos? I know you’re going to agree to come back. But are you sure?” Lucas asks worriedly.
“Get Mark and wait for me in my room.”
I turn and head toward the heart of the house—my father’s office—where he is waiting, always two steps ahead. The door opens before I can even knock. Of course it does. The king always knows when a prince is about to beg.
I follow him inside and the smell of cigars hits me in the face like a brick. The old fool takes his place behind his gross desk that's carved with gold. Disgustingly tacky. His wedding ring glitters in the light where he holds a crystal glass in his hand. His celebration.
“You’re to let him go,” I say, my voice hard. Every word is sharp as ice.
“Why? He’s alive isn’t he?” he says, barely blinking.
“I watched him bleed for your entertainment to make me bend to you.”
The room quiets, the atmosphere tense and taut like a blade between two hearts.
Finally, he leans back in his chair, ready to talk.
“You’re the one who bought him into this. You want him safe? Then take responsibility. Prove you're not a boy playing gangster. Take your place.”
I don’t hesitate.
“I’ll do it. I’ll come back. But Simon goes home, alive, or you lose me forever. Even if I have to put a bullet in my own skull.”
