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I cling to Martin's hand, feeling his pulse thrum against my skin—an erratic drumbeat in the face of our shared peril. What comes next is uncertain, and terror grips me with icy fingers. Will he kill me first? Or Martin? Will I feel it?
The man inches closer as Martin and I try to retreat. He runs faster. Martin's fists fly with a ferocity I've never seen, each punch is a declaration of his will to shield me from the man'smalevolence. His movements are a silent but palpable vow etched in the air between us.
"Stay back, Tatiana!" he barks, and his voice is a steel blade forged in the fires of desperation.
My hands tremble as I watch, hypnotized. The dance of violence unfolding before me is punctuated by the grunts and thuds of flesh against flesh—each blow a note in a symphony of chaos.
"Is this your definition of family love?" the man taunts, sidestepping Martin's onslaught with an elegance that belies the savagery in his eyes.
I feel the cold bite of the night seep into my bones, but it’s nothing compared to the chill of dread that coils in my stomach. The man is a predator playing with his prey.
"Monster," I whisper through gritted teeth. "What do you want?"
"Ah, little niece," the man sneers, catching Martin's wrist and twisting it with a sickening crack. "You still have no idea?"
With a swift movement, the man breaks free, his lecherous gaze locking onto me. Before I can react, his hands are upon me, large and unyielding. My breath hitches as fabric tears under his brutal grip, exposing my skin to the harsh kiss of the night air.
"Let her go!" Martin lunges, but the man throws him off with unsettling ease, laughing at our feeble attempts to defy him.
"Your knight in bloody armor can't save you," the man snarls, his fingers clawing at me like talons. His touch is poison, a violation that sears deeper than flesh.
"Stop!" My voice sounds distant, muffled under the weight of his assault. "Please, stop!"
A dark satisfaction flickers across his face, drinking in my despair. I am trapped in this nightmare, ensnared by a man who was forced to say he's my uncle. But, by whom?
"Get your hands off her!" Martin's rage is a living thing, fierce and unyielding, but it's like a candle struggling against a storm.
The man's laugh curdles the blood in my veins, and I'm left with the harrowing realization that hope might be slipping away. With Martin faltering and my strength waning, fear clenches my heart, threatening to suffocate the very life out of me.
"Fight, Tatiana," I tell myself, though my limbs feel like lead. "Fight him."
But even as my mind screams for resistance, my body betrays me, succumbing to the terror that holds me captive.
I'm gasping for breath, the sharp tang of fear and sweat heavy in the air. The man's grip is ironclad, his nails digging crescents into my flesh. I can't look away from Martin's crumpled form on the ground, his chest heaving with the effort to rise.
"Martin, no. Stay down," I whisper, but it's lost in the wind howling through the broken windows of the farmhouse.
"Stay out of this, or you're next," he threatens, but Martin's love is deaf to danger. With a grunt, he pushes himself up, eyes locked on me. There's a ferocity there, a determination that makes my heart clench.
"Let her go!" Martin's voice cracks like thunder.
"Always the hero, aren't you?" the man sneers, his grip tightening as if he could squeeze the life out of me. His blue eyes are ice-cold and merciless.
"Only for her," Martin grits out, and there's something raw and beautiful in those words that fills my eyes with tears.
He charges a blur of motion, fists raised. The scene unfolds with the surreal quality of a nightmare, time stretching and warping under the strain of adrenaline. I want to scream, to fight, to run, but my body feels like stone, every muscle screaming in silent terror.
"Martin!" My voice finally breaks free, a strangled cry that is part plea, part prayer.
The two men collide, a tangle of limbs and fury. Martin lands a solid punch, hope flaring briefly as the man staggers back. But it's short-lived. The man recovers with a viper's speed, his hand whipping out, the glint of metal catching the moonlight.
The gunshot shatters the night, a single, deafening blast that vibrates in my bones. Martin's eyes meet mine one last time, filled with regret and something that looks too much like goodbye.
"I'm sorry," he mouths, the words floating to me, weightless and heartbreaking.
Then he crumples to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut, life bleeding out onto the dirt floor. Silence crashes down around us so completely it roars in my ears. I fall to my knees beside him, hands shaking as I touch his face. He's so still, so terribly still.
"Martin? Please..." My voice is a ghost, hollow and lost.
