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I stared into the haunted eyes of a stranger.
The girl reached me.
She was a lot shorter than me. Shorter than someone I used to know in my past. A girl I’d loved. A girl I—
My eyes snapped shut as I scrubbed all memories of her away.
He hurt me the worst whenever I thought of her.
She was pain.
So, so much pain.
The huge scar on my left forearm was the only remnant I had that I’d once felt something for her and inked myself with something to remember her by.
Fluttering her ridiculously thick lashes, the girl undid the buttons of my blazer and inserted her bold hands inside. Her touch was cool as she ran her fingers up my chest and over my shoulders, pushing the jacket away.
I didn’t move.
I never moved when someone touched me.
I’d learned that lesson well.
I stood as still as a statue as she tugged the jacket off my wrists, stole my cane just long enough to remove the blazer entirely, then pressed the carved lion’s head back into my palm.
Fisting it, I struggled to breathe as she repeated the process with my black shirt.
She took her time with the buttons.
She undid them torturously slowly.
I twitched and waited, trained to expect far worse.
When she had me standing bare chested before her, her eyes tightened as she looked upon all my scars.
I kept my gaze far away from the mirror.
I couldn’t look.
Couldn’t see.
I wanted her to stop.
I wanted to be left alone.
But I had no say. I never had any say in the torture I’d been given.
And this was just another level of torture, wrapped up in beauty, delivered with softness, all while I waited for the agony I knew would come.
In a cloud of floral perfume, she swayed forward, pressed a kiss to one of the many scars on my chest, then her hands went to my waistband. She unbuttoned and unzipped me; she sucked in a breath as my slacks fell to the floor.
Cool air licked around my legs. My skin prickled, my hair stood on end, and the agonising phantom pain that was far worse than any session in the machine ripped my eyes to the mirror.
I couldn’t help it.
I couldn’t stop myself.
The moment my gaze landed on my disfigured form, I lost the numbness he’d drowned me in.
A surge of absolute fury.
A crest of murderous rage.
I remembered.
Fuck, I remember—
“Get out,” I breathed coldly, deadly.
The girl backed away, her delicate hands folded in her scarves. “But I’m your present, efendim. I am yours to do with as you wish.”
I couldn’t look away from the ruination of my body.
“Go,” I hissed.
“But—”
“Go! Get out. Fucking LEAVE!” I roared, emotions surging, passions colliding.
She ran.
She bolted to the door and vanished, all while I tripped forward, falling to my knees as my pants wrapped around my ankles.
Fierce tears shot to my eyes as I fought with the material. Shifting onto my ass, I kicked off my only shoe, shoved the trousers off, then froze solid as I dropped my hands to my left leg.
To the mottled and ugly flesh that ended in a mottled and ugly stump.
To the prosthetic that cupped the missing limb just below my knee cap.
The prosthetic didn’t fit right, didn’t move right. It turned me into a cripple.
Vicious, vicious anger poured through me as I unbuckled the fake limb, ripped off the padding, and threw both as hard as I could into the murky mirror.
The wooden limb crashed against the mirrored wall.
The image of me shattered.
Glass rained in a thousand shards.
And all my conditioning flexed, crinkled, and tore.
A tear in the numbness.
A hole in the torment.
And for one blessed moment, I remembered.
Her.
Then.
Everything.
Neri...
I choked as my heart palpitated and forgot how to beat.
Neri...
I grunted as it continued flopping and floundering in my chest, its beat broken from what he’d done to me.
NERI!
My eyes rolled back.
My mind shut down.
I passed out cold on the carpet.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
*
Aslan
*
(Heart in Finnish: Sydän)
*
Five years earlier...
If I WOULD’VE KNOWN COMING BACK TO life would’ve hurt so much, I wouldn’t have bothered. If I would’ve been told that opening my eyes would condemn me to a fate worse than death...I would’ve happily passed away and been free.
Regardless that I harboured true fear at leaving Neri a widow. Despite my horror at being the one person alive who would hurt her the worst with my death, I was weak enough to admit I would’ve chosen to die that day.
Because all the following days were worse than fucking hell.
It started with a dim ache in my lower left leg that built and built until fire replaced my blood. In the short moments between oblivion and awareness, my body switched from blissfully heavy with sleep to burning alive with motherfucking pain.
So much pain.
Everywhere.
All at once.
I was hot, then cold.
Sweating, then shivering.
My muscles twitched. My heart couldn’t stick to a proper beat, too fast, too slow, skipping and pounding, pounding in my ice-fire chest.
