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I walk inside and the door clicks behind me. The metallic tang of dried blood fills my nostrils and I cup my stomach as nausea rises in me. My attacker is hanging limply from rusty chains, a drip hooked up and feeding into his battered system. Puncture wounds litter his body and despite knowing this man tried to end my life, I gasp, horrified by the brutality staring back at me.
His head swings up, gaunt and bruised. “There she is. Did the big bad boss send you to do a man's job?” His voice is barely above a whisper.
My legs wobble, but I lock my knees, forcing the fear aside. “Says the boy who couldn’t kill a weak woman.” I’m not weak. Years of horse riding, dealing with feisty mares and powerful stallions have made sure of that. He scoffs as I finally step closer.
“You smell good,” he hums.
“I expect anything smells better than you do.” A bucket sits beneath him, and in it, his excrement. My nose wrinkles, and he laughs bitterly. “This could all be over.”
“I’m not a rat,” he spits.
“You're not useful either. You failed,” I say quietly. “We mock you.”
Ronan feared he would provoke me, but I seem to be waging a war on his manhood and winning. A vein pulses in his neck, and I shrug.
“Laugh at how spectacularly you fucked up such a simple job. We’d be doing your boss a favour at this point.”
“Fuck you!” The chains rattle, and he grunts, his face twisting painfully. “You're a disease, a broken, scarred little girl who thinks her husband will always be around to save her. You’re all weak whores. Good for only one thing.” He spits a bloody ball of phlegm and it lands near my feet. The venom on his tongue, the way his swollen eyes view me with such hatred, sparks the notion he despises women in general.
“You’ll be scarred too, only you’ll be dead and I won’t,” I snipe back, hating how easily his words cut into me, sharper than any blade.
“Death doesn’t scare me. You’ll wish I had killed you, because what is waiting for you is much worse. You think it’s only your back he wants to mark? He’ll rip apart your body so bad that no surgeon could ever repair it. No amount of ink will cover it up. You’ll be unrecognisable. Nothing more than a beaten hole to fuck.”
I blink in shock, traumatised by his vile taunts, but a small part of me celebrates, and somehow through the terror, I smile. Confusion ripples across his face, and I suck in a scared but smug breath. “What are you smiling at, cunt!”
“A rat,” I tell him simply, and realisation dawns. He just outed his boss. My kidnapper. The door opens, and Connor stalks in and smashes his fist into the guy’s already deformed face repeatedly until blood splatters, and before Isaiah has time to drag me away, Ronan is replacing Connor Brayford and pressing his thumbs into my attacker’s eye sockets, roaring animalistically as he pours his rage into harming the chained man. An agonised scream ruptures the air, and I throw up at the horror-like scene before me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RONAN
Cara is silent as I drive us towards the stables. She’s not made eye contact with me since she entered the bunker. Her focus is on the grounds and open fields as we pull into the yard. Clyde is already waiting with Vinnie. The horse nickers and flicks his head when he sees my wife in the front seat. She’s in a trance, lost in her own mind.
Exiting the vehicle, I walk round to her side and open the door.
“I thought a change of scenery would be good.” Helping her out, I expect her to walk to Vinnie, but her hand is shaking in mine, cold. Seeing me blind her attacker has left her already pale complexion to wane further. Haunted. Too quiet. I’d wanted to rip him apart. Tear into him like he threatened would happen to her. I’d made her freshen up in the hopes it would snap her free from the mental cage she has shut herself in. I’d brushed her teeth as her glassy eyes bore through me. No words. No eye contact. “Come on.”
Squeezing her hand, I cross the yard with her. Clyde passes me her hat, and I clip it in place and swing her up on her horse. Her blank stare never once meets mine. I heave myself up, her back to my chest, and grip over her hands, barely holding the reins. Her head bends to stare at my larger hands. I scrubbed them raw, but it’s like she can still see the blood. All she can see is the violence. Kicking Vinnie into motion, he plods across the yard, taking us down the track, leading to the rolling hills.
We cross a field, and she hardly moves. It’s as good as riding with a corpse. I nudge Vinnie, and he trots. Another kick and he picks up to a canter, and her surprised gasp has me tightening my arms around her.
“He let me go. Why would he come back?” Confusion dominates her voice, fear close behind. “Why let me go? What was the point?” she whispers.
I pull Vinnie back into a walk. “It’s a game, a sick game. The thrill of tormenting you mentally is as appealing as it is to harm you physically. This way, he can draw your torture out,” I tell her. “Whoever he is, he’s not done. You and Lola aren’t safe.”
“I don’t understand what I did wrong.” Her shoulders lift as she battles with her bewilderment.
“Nothing. You did nothing, Cara. You were born into a world where men like me either welcome the darkness, cultivate and respect its abyss, or those who get lost in it. There is a fine line and whoever hurt you is so far beyond I doubt even he understands his actions.”
“I can't do this. Not again.” Her head shakes, her body seemingly smaller as she curls in on herself.
“You won’t need to. You think I would let anyone take you from me? Put you in harm's way?” She's quiet, so I grip her chin and twist her face round. “I won’t let anyone have you.”
“You won’t?” Wide green eyes shine tearfully at me.
“Not now, not ever, this life and the next. You're mine.”
“This life and the next.”
