Page 132 of Vows of Ruin

“Oh, yes,” he purrs. “After the crash. When that car hit them. When she lay crumpled in the leaves like some wild little thing that finally stopped running.”

He steps closer until I can feel his breath graze the back of my neck.

“She didn’t wake up at first. I tied her between those two tree trunks, arms spread, head hanging.” His voice drops into something hungry. “She was so beautiful. Even bruised. Even bleeding. Even broken. The perfect combination of fragility and rage.”

My hands clench against the restraints until skin splits further. Sebastain goes on, unbothered.

“She didn’t beg.” A soft chuckle. “Not then. She couldn’t. Her jaw was slack, her pulse barely there.”

He moves to my side, fingers lightly touching the wooden edge of the cross.

“I remember leaning in,” he breathes. “Just here.” He taps at the side of my own hip. “And biting her. Hard. I wanted to see if she’d scream when she woke.”

My vision narrows. Heat flashes down my spine. He tilts his head, studying me.

“Such a strange, perfect sound she made,” he says. “Half gasp, half sob. When she finally woke. I told her I wasn’t going to kill her yet. That I like to play with my food first.”

A tremor hits my ribs. He notices. He savors it.

“And her eyes—” he murmurs, smile softening into something utterly unhinged. “—you should’ve seen them, Liam. Shock and fury all tangled together. Like a wildcat with a broken leg.”

He steps away, strolling toward the tray of tools.

“But do you know what disappointed me?” he asks lightly. “She didn’t scream when I hit her. Not really. She bit down on her own tongue to stay quiet.” A pause. “But that driver of hers…” He laughs, delighted. “Oh, he screamed. Loud enough to echo through the forest when I started carving into him.”

My heart lurches, thinking about Donnie being alive and carved into. Sebastian picks up a slender hooked blade and turns it in the light.

“Tell me,” he says casually, “Do you think you’ll scream like he did?”

I lock my jaw so hard my teeth ache. He steps close again, bringing the blade up, not touching, just hovering.

“No?” he whispers. “Mm. We’ll see.”

My mind splinters around the edges. Old instincts kick in, the kind I haven’t needed in years. Dissociation. Dropping into myself. Pulling back from the body while staying aware enough to survive. I stare past him, past the concrete walls, past the heat of the lights, letting the edges of the world blur and fade. But he notices. Of course he does.

“No slipping away,” he murmurs, grabbing my jaw and forcing my face toward his. “Not yet. I want you present for the reveal.”

He walks toward the far end of the room and presses another button. Lights click on down a long hallway of glass rooms. One after another. Each one a replica of somewhere we’ve lived. Somewhere we’ve fought. Somewhere we’ve bled.

The kitchen at the mansion. Max’s penthouse balcony. Our war room. My old living room from the apartment I shared with Torque. The armory. And at the very end. Wrenley’s childhood bedroom. Exact. Perfect. Horrifying. Sebastian spreads his arms like an artist unveiling his masterpiece.

“I rebuilt them all,” he says, voice full of quiet pride. “Every detail. Every shadow. Every chipped drawer handle she used to catch her fingers on.”

My stomach drops into ice.

“I want you all to feel at home,” he whispers. “For what comes next.”

Cold terror ripples through me, real, visceral, unmistakable. For her. For max. For all of them. Because if they walk in here, none of them will walk out. A prayer slips out of me before I can stop it. Not conscious. Not logical. A whisper to a God I stopped believing in a long, long time ago.

Please… don’t let them come. Don’t let her come for me. Don’t let them follow. Keep them away from this place. Please.

If Sebastian wants me broken…fine. I can accept that. But if he gets his hands on her. A bolt of nausea hits me so hard I almost choke. Sebastian smiles. He can see the fear. He likes it.

“Beautiful,” he says softly, walking back toward me with the hooked blade glinting in the overhead light. “You’re ready.”

Sebastian approaches with the hooked blade held delicately between two fingers, almost like he’s about to carve fruit instead of a man twice his size. He stops just inches from me, head tilted with childlike curiosity.

“You know,” he says softly. “Most people beg before the first cut.”