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“Whose fucking blood is on your hands?” I scream, my throat raw and metallic-tasting.
“This blood right here?” he asks, mocking me again as he points to the puddle. “Oh, Niccolò,”—he shakes his head—“this blood right here is onyourhands. Get a little of the right concoction in your system, and you get downright vicious.”
The fuck is he talking about?
I narrow my eyes as a woman comes into view. She starts scrubbing the floor with a large hand scrubber, and bleach fills my nostrils.
I refuse to look away from Gabriel.
“I’m going to let my staff know no more of the heavy shit for you. We give it to some of our men and women while they’re working to enhance their experience because we’re generous people here. You clearly can’t handle it, and I won’t have you killing off the rest of my women like you did with yours.”
My heart starts to thunder wildly in my chest. A sharp pain shoots through my sternum as he speaks, his words starting to convolute my memories as they come rushing back in.
The hotel.
Gabriel’s negotiation.
My refusal.
Evelina…
My memories come back like still frames, Polaroid fucking photos that click behind my eyelids as I search for answers I’m not sure I want to know…
I close my eyes as images come back to me. I’m chained to the floor, and there she is across from me. Her beautiful blonde hair in front of her face as she lies on her side, away from me, as if she’s sleeping peacefully…
And then another flash.
I can just barely reach her.
The rage inside my body comes quick, seemingly out of nowhere, but my insides burn with it with pure, sadistic rage that is ungodly uncontrollable and so fucking unrecognizable. I see her, and I want to rip her to shreds.
A feral desire that grips my insides and twists—refusing to let go.
I need to eliminate her. Need to slash and tear and destroy.
So I do.
I grab her and start tearing each strand of hair from her beautiful head. She doesn’t wake up, doesn’t move as I sink my nails into her flesh, as I bring my mouth down onto her…
I reach my fingertips up to my mouth and realize…it isn’t my blood in my mouth. I thought maybe I had a tooth missing, or maybe a cut. Perhaps someone split my lip open during a struggle…
But I feel no wounds.
The blood isn’t mine.
But it’s in my mouth.
On my lips.
I trail my fingers to my cheeks, my eyebrows, my throat… It’s everywhere.
I look down at my hands, and as they tremble violently, I see the almost dried blood that’s caked under my fingernails…as if I truly did rip her to shreds with my bare hands.
“Welcome to our breeding facility, Niccolò. We hope you enjoy your stay. And I’m so sorry about Evelina. I truly didn’t see that coming. You’re more like me than I ever knew…”
44
EVELINA
