Page 149 of Cold Mercy

He tries to push himself up, but two guards pin him down.

“No, no, don’t touch him!” I scream, kicking backward even though one of them holds me still.

“Get your fucking hands off her!” Thomas screams.

The masked man snaps toward him.

“What is this? What the fuck is he doing here?”

“He followed us straight from her house,” one of them unloads.

“Let him go,” I plead. “Please, he knows nothing. I’m the one you want. Whatever the fuck this is. But leave him out of it, he’s innocent.”

The masked figure turns his head slowly, incredulous.

“You’ve latched onto him that fast, huh?” His voice drips with venom. “Your fiancé's grave is barely cold, and you’re already warming someone else’s bed? How touching.”

Thomas strains against his restraints. “I swear to God I’ll kill you. Don’t fucking talk to her, let her go!”

The masked man steps toward him, with a calming smile on his face.

“You’re irritating me.”

He doesn’t raise his voice, or hesitate.

The gun goes off at close range, angled downward, the sound cracks through the room like a whip. Thomas’s body jerks violently as the bullet tears into his thigh. A scream rips out of him, raw and uncontrolled, his muscles straining against the chair as blood pours down his leg and pools on the floor beneath him.

“Stop! Stop!” I fall forward to my knees. “Please, don’t hurt him, please don't—”

The masked man looks at me as if I’ve insulted him.

“You’re fucking pathetic, Sophia. It doesn't suit people like us.”

Though my hands are trembling and my vision is blurred by tears, I force my gaze to find his. He's gasping, his breathing sharp and broken from the pain, but his eyes never leave my face, his focus a lifeline he's throwing across the room.

“Sophia, don’t listen to him,” he grits out. “Don’t let him get in your head, look at me. Look only at me.”

My throat closes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to him. “I’m so fucking sorry, Thomas. Just breathe, please breathe.”

The masked man steps closer, his boots stopping inches from my knees. He crouches, his gloved fingers gripping my jaw, tilting my face up.

“All of this for him?” he asks mockingly.

“Yes,” I say, my voice steady and cold. “For him? I'd do this and so much more. You wouldn't understand that. You're just a pussy hiding behind a mask.”

The reaction is instant and brutal, as rough hands fist in my hair and yank my head back, sending a sharp, shooting pain through my skull. I gasp, one hand flying up to claw at his wrist while my other swings wildly, my useless fists connecting with his chest, his arm, his ribs, anything I can reach in a desperate flurry of pure rage.

“You fucking coward!” I snarl. “Show your face, you piece of shit! Take off the mask if you’re so brave.”

He doesn't even budge or flinch under my blows, simply grabbing my hands, tearing them away from him, and slamming me back onto the dirt.

He watches me crumble with… fascination, like he’s waited to see me break. My body curls forward, hands clutching my stomach, a sob ripping from my throat before I can stop it.

“What do you want?” I scream, voice shaking violently. “Tell me what the fuck you want!”

His answer slides out like silk dipped in venom.

“You, just you.”