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I swallow a breath as he spins me, pulling me back into his chest. His hands worm their way around my throat as he pins me to him. My eyes fall on the wardrobe door I'd left open.

He doesn't give me time to speak. To plead. To even think before he's shoving me over the edge of the bed, his hands fighting at my dress as he begins to tear the fabric. For the first time since being here, I fight. I fight with everything I have. I turn under him, nails digging into his wrists as he tries to pin me, his body weighing down between my thighs as he fumbles with his tie that I know he'll try to restrain me with again, but this time, I don't comply.

Because fuck comply or die.

I kick with everything I have, my knees jabbing into his ribs. My feet kicks into his thighs. His fist connects with my face, pain splintering into my eye, but I don't stop. Every inch of adrenaline that's been building over my weeks of captivity finally kick in, my body finally fighting with me instead of against me.

The bottom of my foot connects with his crotch, knocking the wind from his lungs. He drops to the floor, gripping his cock in his hand, his breathing out of control. My hand slides under my dress, pulling the shard of glass from my underwear. It's now or never.

I lunge like a woman possessed, gripping tightly around the glass as I drive it into his shoulder. He lets out a groan, loud and harsh. I try to rip it out, but it's stuck inside his skin, and in this moment, I know I messed up. I messed up so bad. He shoves himself to his feet, clutching at his shoulder that's pouring with blood. His lip's split from where one of my flailing fists had connected.

He spits on the ground, sucking in a breath. His face a picture of pure evil as he glares at me.

I step back, knowing this is it. This is the end I knew would come if I failed.

"You stupid, stupid little bitch." He spits poison at me, but he doesn't scream. He doesn't shout. He lets out a laugh that sinks into my pores. He shoots forward before I can even react. His fist lands against my face, knocking me sideways. I fall to the floor, but his fists don't stop. He keeps punching, over and over. The taste of blood fills my mouth, pouring from my nose. My eyes beginning to swell under his touch.

I can't move, my head won't comply. Even blinking sends pain into every part of my body.

I hear the sound of the box being dragged from under the bed. He pants and winces with every tug.

"If you'd have been a good girl, Amora, you'd have got your final gift. It's a shame now all you'll get is to hear what could have been," he says, his fingers gripping into my hair as he pulls me up to my knees. I lean against him, unable to stand. Unable to do anything but breathe.

Through blurred vision, I see her. Her face that looks like mine, her hair matted and clinging to her forehead that's soaked with sweat. The ends of her curls knotting. She looks up at me, and through the haze I spot the gag in her mouth. Every inch of me shatters at the sight of her, but part of me struggles to truly believe it's her. I don't know if I can or if my mind is playing tricks on me.

"Say hello to your sister, Amora. She's been waiting for you," he snarls into my ear. I try to move forward, to reach out for her, but the room won't stop spinning.

My world fractures, every inch of my heart, my fucking soul shattering into tiny pieces that could never be fixed. Her eyes find mine, through the fog that is my consciousness that's wavering with every blink threatening to force me to succumb to the pain in my head and the slow beat of my heart, I see her. I truly see her, my sister, my soul. My other half.

Memories of childhood flood in faster than I can breathe, us at seven years old, holding onto each other in the midst of a storm, Rosa trembling in my arms.

"I'm scared," she whispered as the rain battered against the window.

"You never have to be scared, Ro, not when we're together."

Darkness fades in and out, my body being moved without permission. The feel of wood hard against my back until finally, darkness is all I have.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ace

Twenty-four fucking hours, Melina's kept me trapped in this room.

She's used my body more than she ever has before, forcing orgasm after orgasm. Forcing words of affection to spill from my lips when all I've longed to do with each passing hour is to wrap my hands around her throat and snap her neck like a fucking twig. I'd felt compassion, fucking sympathetic in the beginning after she'd told me about her dad and what he'd done—but the more she kept pushing, kept placing the knife against my throat every single time her cunt would slide down my cock, the more I just felt done. Done with her. Done with this place. Done with every single fucking threat that fell from her fucked up mouth.

But I kept quiet. I kept my dick hard with thoughts of Amora and the way her mouth felt against mine, long enough to satisfy her. Jarrod had been knocking at my door for most of the day, pleading for me to answer. She'd forced me to ignore him, forced me to listen to the way he told me it wasn't my fault, that the argument didn't mean anything, and that he still loved me. That I was still his brother.

When she finally left, she sealed every threat with a gentle kiss on my lips that forced me to grip harder into the bedsheets, just to stop myself from reaching for my gun.

Now sitting here, trying to find the energy to move, to do anything but sit and scrub my skin clean from her…I don't say the word, because I wasn't—it wasn't. That didn't happen to me. Not to men like me who could kill someone without a blink of an eye. It was my choice to keep her alive. It was my choice to do it just so Vincent wouldn't kill the people I love.

The soft tap of knuckles against my door drags me from my thoughts, my eyes falling to my arm that's raked with scratches from my own nails that I hadn't even realised I'd been doing. I don't remember clawing at my skin. I don't remember digging in so deep that blood trickles down my arm.

"Jax?" Adrian's voice calls out as the door opens. He walks in without permission just like he always has, Jarrod following behind him.

I stand from the bed, tucking my bleeding arm behind my back. Catching my reflection in the mirror that hangs on my wardrobe, I spot the initials MR carved into my chest. A little gift she'd left me with. I duck down fast, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over my head, not wanting them to see the shit I've gone through over the last twenty-four hours.

I don't even get a chance to turn before Jarrod's body slams against mine. His arms wrap tightly around my waist, head pressing hard against the carvings in my chest. I bite down hard, forcing myself to channel the pain elsewhere.