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One hour.
Chapter twenty-five
Declan
Everythingfuckinghurts.
It feels like we’ve been here for days, although I know it’s only been hours. Pain scatters across my body from the multiple beatings I’ve gotten from the man I once called my father and his men. The time just slugged around, and I wonder how much time is left on the deadline Rian has set for Natalia.
Rian’s men have taken turns between Finn and I, making the other watch as they torture. Glancing over at my best friend, it physically pains me to see him like that. Despite all the burns, cuts and forming bruises that litter his body, he’s still holding strong against the torture.
“Declan,” he states in a soft tone. “If something happens to me, please take care of my girls.”
“Shut the fuck up, Finn. Natalia will be here soon,” I assure him. I can’t even fathom the thought of losing him, so I won’t think about it until I come down that road.
“Please,” he breathes out again, obvious distress in his tone. “Skylar will be so distraught. It won’t be good for the baby, and I don’t want to–”
“The baby?” I interrupt with a question. My brows shoot to my hairline as I stare at my best friend.
“This is not how I planned on telling you,” he halfheartedly chuckles, shrugging with a wince. “The day Nat came back, I found out Sky is pregnant.”
“That’s great news, Finn,” I reply, glancing at the door and keeping my voice low. “I’ll promise you, but I won’t need to stay true to it because Natalia is coming,” I promise him just before the door opens again.
It’s my turn to be tortured.
Bracing myself for the inevitable, my eyes track the movements of the man. I believe his name is Boris, but it doesn’t really matter since his one job is to make my life miserable. I watch while he swipes the branding iron from the table, flipping it around his hands languidly. His smile is sinister as he comes to a stop in front of me, catching the dull glint of the lights off the iron.
My eyes glaze over as I brace myself for the pain that I’m about to endure. Digging deep, I focus on the one thing that is giving me the strength to not give in to the pain. A single, current figment of my imagination that doesn’t allow me to stay in this agony.
The freckles on her face. The way her long auburn hair flows down her back. Her smile.
As he forces the rod against my skin a second time, I bite my tongue trying not to give him the satisfaction of hurting me, denying him the pleasure of hearing me in pain.It’s just too much. A single tear slips from my eye as Boris laughs, the silent torture flowing down my cheek is enough to turn him on.
God, I can hear her laugh as if she’s really here. It gives me hope that soon, I’ll hear it again.
Finn protests weakly to the left of me. Boris hisses in irritation, dropping the iron onto the dirty floor, before marching to Finn. The objection earns him a backhand across the face, the resounding skin-on-skin action darts across the room followed by a smalloophleaving his lips. He instantly slumps against the chains, and I feel my heart drop. His head sags forward, the tale-tell sign that he knocked out from the impact, or worse.
With a wicked grin, Boris reclaims the discarded iron and pushes the hot metal into my side, watching for any reaction out of me. I can’t feel it, though. All I can do is stare at Finn, willing my eyes to focus long enough to see the rise and fall of his chest. I let out a silent exhale in relief, seeing that he isn’t dead. Sagging against my own chains, my eyes droop closed, and I hear Boris grunt with the dissatisfaction of no longer seeing my pain. He slams the rod against me again, but I’m no longer mentally present. Pain quits registering as I feel a warm buzz, realizing that this is what death must feel like.
Just before I pass out from the pain, I hear the smallest groan come from deep within Finn. I feel myself physically relax from the slight confirmation and allow myself to fully slip into the beckoning darkness.
“Declan, that’s not funny,” Natalia squeals, glaring at me through the cake icing that now covers the whole right side of her face. I try my best to not burst out in laughter.
“It most definitely is,” I tease, holding my hand out for her to take.
It’s her twentieth birthday and we are at the safe house. I’ve made her favorite red velvet cake with cream cheese icing.
She slides out of her seat and swats my hand away. “I don’t need your assistance,” she sasses in true Natalia fashion while walking to the bathroom. Watching her sway away from me, I take a moment to admire the woman I’ve been in love with since childhood. Shaking myself out of my head fog, I try to catch up to her quick pace.
“Come on, Nat.” I follow closely behind her. “I was just kidding, lighten up.”
When I round the corner to the bathroom, she’s waiting for me on the other side with a wicked smirk on her mouth. The icing from her face now piled in her hand. Shit.
I turn, but before I can run away, she pounces on my back and shoves the icing in my face. Unprepared for the momentum, I stumble and we crash to the floor in a fit of laughter. She smears the icing on the side of my face more, cackling at mischievousness.
She rolls onto the floor beside me, laughing as she stares up at the ceiling. “Your face when you realized what was going on was priceless.”
Rolling onto my side, I prop my head up with my hand. “You’re hilarious.” I mutter, pretending to be upset with a pout.
