Page 112 of The Beast Who Begged Me

I let him help me sit up on the ledge I’ve been lying on. I’m wearing a gray tracksuit, just like the one Sammy is wearing, although the last thing I remember is being naked, two men holding my arms. There was a sharp pain at the back of my neck, and then…

Nothing.

“They brought you in about an hour ago,” Sammy says. “You came to after ten minutes, but you didn’t seem to know where you were. Then you were out again.” His hands tighten on my shoulders. “How did they get you? Damiano—is he⁠—”

“Dami’s fine.” I drop my voice. “I came here on purpose.”

“You what?”

I look him over while he gapes at me. Head. Shoulders. Arms. Hands. No obvious blood. No vacant stare. He’s filthy, bruised around one cheekbone, but whole. “Are you okay?” I ask him.

“What the fuck do you mean, you came here on purpose?”

“I came for you.”

“Well, congratulations. You found me. Now you can die with me.”

“We’re not going to die,” I tell Sammy under my breath. “There’s a plan.”

That earns me a strangled sound that might be a laugh if he weren’t so furious. Then his face crumples for half a second before he turns away. “Ricky,” he says, muffled. “Is he…”

I turn him back to me. “He’s alive, I promise. He came straight to us after you were⁠—”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m very sure.”

He ducks his head, hiding the fact that he’s brushing away tears. “Why the hell did you come here?” he asks again. “I thought you were supposed to be some fucking genius.”

“If only,” I say before I can stop myself. But at least it makes Sammy smile, just a tiny bit. “You saved my life when you pulled me out of that fire. The least I could do was try to save you back.”

He screws up his face. “I only did that for Damiano. You don’t owe me.”

“Maybe you did, back then. But we’re family now. You and me and Dami and Rosa and Vito—we’re family.”

His mouth tightens, his eyes shine, and he looks down at the floor as if the cement has suddenly become fascinating.

I look around, finally. Concrete floor, a metal toilet and sink. Bars close off the front of the cell and separate us from an empty one next door. The back and side walls are rough concrete. There’s a light overhead, covered by a cage, but it’s dim.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how long we’ve been here. They’ve been bringing us food occasionally. Then they brought you in.”

“Us?”

“There’s another guy here, too. The guards gave him extra food, and he shared it with me, so I figured he was okay. Food was fucking awful, though.”

I squint into the gloom, following his finger as he points. At first, all I see is a shape squeezing into the concrete corner. His knees are pulled up and his shoulders are rounded, as though the less space he occupies, the less anyone will notice him.

His hair is falling into his face. But when he lifts his head at last to peek at me, I recognize those Mediterranean-blue eyes at once. “Jesse?”

Jesse Foster looks very different from the pampered pet of Daniel King. He’s thinner, for one thing, and there are marks along his face and wrists that the poor light can’t quite conceal.

I cross to him and sink gracelessly to my knees. “Why are you in here?”

His head comes up sharply. “Why the hell do you think? When Daniel found out I let you go⁠—”

“But you didn’t let us go. I’ll—I’ll tell him that, if he⁠—”