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“Baby, you can’t be hurting yourself like this,” I murmur, helping her up.
She rips off the tape in one go, gritting her teeth and hissing through them from the sharp pain.
“I was worried about you,” she admits.
“I’m fine,bella.Did he hurt you?’
“I accidentally cut my hand, and I think my wrist might be fractured, but I’m okay otherwise. He just said I needed to stay in timeout and think about what I did.”
There’s blackness licking at the edges of my vision as I gently grab her arm. After closer inspection, I see a thin cut on her hand, and a faint outline of fingerprints bruising around her wrist, a growl forms deep in my chest.
“Hey, hey,” she calls gently, bringing my attention to her. “It’s fine. I stabbed him, and this is the result. Totally worth it, if you ask me.”
Releasing her, I brush the pad of my thumb across her lip. “You look beautiful painted in his blood.È il colore che preferisco su di te.”
The smell of burning wood is drifting toward us, so I quickly spin around and search his nightstand for extra bullets, finding them in the top one amongst a watch, dentures, pictures, and a case of old quarters—typical old man.
“Is that smoke?” Sawyer asks, crinkling her nose as I load the bullets, pocketing extra in my shorts.
“Yeah. He had me in the cellar. I had to get creative to get out.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Creative is one way to put it.”
“Let’s go. We need to get out of here before the fire traps us.”
Grabbing her hand, I quietly lead her back down the hallway and toward the stairs.
Thick plumes of black smoke begin to rise, stinging my eyes and burning my lungs.
“I’m going to need you to cover your mouth and take a really deep breath. Hold it in as long as you can and breathe in as little as possible.”
Without hesitation, she lifts the collar of her shirt, covering her nose and mouth, and nods at me, signaling that she’s ready to go.
I kiss her forehead, purely because I need to touch her, and then raise the shotgun, sucking in a deep breath before slowly making my way down the steps.
The smoke thickens as we descend, but the fire has been put out, which means either Sylvester is awake, or Kacey took care of it. I see a flash of movement cut across the kitchen and run toward the door, the sound of her chains unmistakable.
Another flash darts in my peripheral a second before Sylvester appears, a hammer in his hand and a battle cry on his lips as he goes to strike me.
“Enzo!” Sawyer screeches, grabbing my collar and yanking me back just as Sylvester swings the hammer right where my head had been.
He stumbles in front of me, and I use his momentum to push him all the way down with the barrel of the gun. He crashes into the floor, rolling onto his back with a grunt.
“Fuckingbitch,” he spits on a cough, while I round him and grab the front of his shirt and drag him toward the middle of the kitchen. The cellar is still open, and Kacey isn’t visible through the density of the smoke.
The fury I kept simmering beneath the surface is now boiling over the edges. All I can think about is what he did to Sawyer—what healmostdid to her. Attempting to kidnap her and then tying her up to his bed in hopes he’d keep her here forever. The image of Sawyer with her mouth sewn shut and sad, hollow eyes is charred into my brain as deeply as the burns in the wooden flooring.
I lower myself on top of him, inextinguishable fury polluting my chest and sinking deep into my bones.
His fists fly at me, but he’s nothing more than a weak, old man. He trades between sputtering colorful insults and hacking as soot fills his lungs.
Setting the gun down, I grab his wrists, quickly forcing them down and trapping them between my thighs. I squeeze hard as he wiggles beneath me like a worm on a hook, and deliver a succession of punches into his face. I feel the skin over my knuckles tearing and my bones colliding with his over and over.
Through my haze, I vaguely hear an odd, gurgled scream before I’m knocked to the side, and what feels like arms and legs being wrapped around my torso.
I’m disoriented long enough for Sylvester to get on his knees and grab the gun. Right as he lifts it, Sawyer appears behind him, the chain link between her cuffed wrists looping across his throat and pulling tight.
A war cry leaves her throat as she heaves him back with all her strength, a pained expression on her face as they fall backward together. The shotgun falls from his grip and slides a foot away from them.
