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Ireturn to consciousness by coughing up the frigid water that was just thrown in my face. My senses are suddenly so heightened that my mind has trouble catching up to my surroundings.Feelingeverything, but having trouble turning any of it into coherent thoughts. I’m in a dark, barren room. It’s cold in here. Cement walls and floor, the strong scent of moisture clinging to the air. This must be a basement of some sort.
I hack up more water, tasting blood in my mouth, not quite sure where it’s coming from, only that I’m spitting it onto the ground next to me. It takes me far too long to realize I’m chained to the wall by the neck, my arms and legs shackled in front of me. I’m still disoriented, my head throbbing from the multiple hits I took before blacking out, chains rattling alongside my protest when my glare flicks up to find the asshole who’s still holding an empty bucket.
I don’t recognize him.
Then my mind latches on to the one thing I should have thought of as soon as the water hit my face. The guilt is already hot and consuming when I pull on the chains with all my strength growling out her name. “Lucy.”
I immediately regret speaking her name inside these suffocating walls, realizing I just unwittingly showed how important she is to me.
I feel myself grow feral at the thought of her chained up somewhere without me.Or worse.
And like a conjured-up nightmare, a deep voice from the shadows confirms that hell really does exist.
“Lucy? Mmm, you mean that pretty little thing that was with you?” The voice drawls. I still can’t see who it is—only that it’s a man’s timbre. He hums like he’s reminiscing on something delicious, smacking his lips. “Screamed real pretty. Pussy as tight as a virgin—cried like one too.”
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
I fight against the harrowing reality that he just painted. Unwilling to let his words sink in.
Because if they’re true, it’s all my fault.
The agony is unbearable. The shackles dig into my skin as I fight against the restraints. It compounds with the overpowering shame and guilt that I’ve failed Lucy. Told her she was safe with me and got her—got herraped.
My eyes latch onto the flame of a lighter struck, the man’s face illuminated while he lights his cigarette. I suddenly realize who’s addressing me. Lee Beauman, the notorious leader of the Gravediggers, and one of the most despicable people I’ve ever had the displeasure of keeping tabs on for the Sin Eaters—like knowing he’s involved in human trafficking.
He takes a long drag, then steps into the glow of the single lightbulb above his head. I would recognize this lunatic anywhere. Shaved head, diamond studs, script tattoos above both eyebrows, and a scythe and noose where his sideburns should be.
“You know,” he muses, tapping his finger on his chin, “she was calling out your name the whole time. Real heartbreaking shit.” He laughs and shoots me a pleased look.
“You fucking piece of shit, I’m going to fucking kill you!” I shout so loud, my neck strains.
He lets out another dry chuckle and I’ve never felt so powerless.
“Come to think of it,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Should have recorded it—have you listen to the noises she made when I was balls deep inside of her. I justknowyou would have loved the sound of her voice. Makes my dick hard just thinking about it.”
His words are the cruelest of tortures, and I can’t listen to him any longer without going deaf from agony.
“Where is she?” I hiss through clenched teeth, continuously pushing and pulling against my restraints. I’ll take any physical pain overthis.
“She’s dead,” Lee states.
I never knew pain could be this lethal.
I refuse to believe him.
“You’re lying,” I growl loudly. My voice is raspy and hoarse, similar to the sound of the chains digging into my skin as I fight against them. Murderous and full of so much hate, I wish I could just rip his head clean off his neck and pulverize it against the wall over and over again.
“What’s the point of keeping her alive when I’ve already had my fun?” he says with a laugh, approaching me. “Besides, all I needed was you.”
All the while I’m sinking.
She can’t be dead.
Can’t be dead.
Can’t be…
He points the two fingers holding the cigarette my way. “You’re the only one to blame, Lover Boy,” he pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Was it worth it?”
