36. Luella
Chapter 36
Luella
T hey’re coming back.
I grit my teeth and rise to my feet, flexing the pole between my hands. It’s a slide in, slide out job, like I’m a game of fucking Ker-Plunk, but that works in my favor. I’d managed to get both out, and now I had two weapons. I’d nearly broken both arms and legs, but it was worth it to be able to hold a solid pole as a weapon. I may still be chained up, but this is all I need.
Come on, fuckers. I lick my lips, swaying my weight from one foot to the other, praying I am far enough away from the wall, close enough to the door, to smash their fucking brains in.
“You said we were needed upstairs,” one says to the other as they move closer, and my stomach churns. “It’s your fucking fault.”
“No,” the other pants; I assume the disgustingly fat one. “I didn’t.”
Then the door opens, and they’re still fucking bickering. They haven’t considered me, but I’ve considered them in fucking detail. The first guard steps in, his face twisted with anger mid-argument. His eyes widen as he sees me, standing and ready, but it’s too late. I swing the pole with every ounce of strength I have, connecting with his temple in a sickening crunch. He falls to the ground like a ragdoll.
The second guard—the fat one—stumbles in, his eyes darting from his fallen comrade to me. He’s barely got his gun up before I jab the pole into his throat, cutting off his airway. He chokes, clutching at his neck, and I strike again, this time at his kneecap. He howls in pain and collapses, his weapon clattering to the floor. Blood spurts from his neck, and for a second, I watch it as I catch my breath, staring at two of the most vicious bastards I’ve had the misfortune to meet.
Then, I scoop up the gun and press it against his sweaty forehead. “Where’s Xavier?” I growl.
The guard’s eyes bulge, his face purple from lack of air. He holds up his hands, pleading. “In...in his office,” he gasps.
Did he look like this when he was raping me? Shoving his fist into my ass and mouth?
No.
I give him a cold smile. “How do you like my gun, prick?”
Then I pull the trigger, and he falls silent, his body going limp.
With both guards down, I turn my attention to my chains. I still have the pole, and now a gun. I’m not out of this yet, not by a long shot, but I’m also not the helpless prisoner they thought I was. I’m Luella fucking Watts, and I’m coming for Xavier.
I stare at the chains, my heart pounding. Each clink of metal on metal sends a rush of adrenaline through me. I’m racing against time, against the odds, but I’m not backing down. Not until Xavier is dead, and not until I’ve burned this whole goddamn place to the ground. I shoot the chains, the rusted metal finally giving way under the speed of the bullets. The sound of the last link snapping echoes through the room, sending relief skittering through me. I’m bruised, bleeding, but unbroken. I shake off the remnants of my restraints like I’m allergic, leaving them in a heap on the cold stone floor.
I give myself a minute, because even though I know Xavier has cameras and many more men, I’m close to passing out. Blood leaks from every wound, and my eye is so swollen from my broken cheekbone that I can’t see. My mouth aches from the loss of my tooth, my jaw feels like it’s broken, and I can’t even think of what else these bastards did to me.
I take a deep breath, and my ribs scream with pain, but I examine the gun. It’s a Glock 17, and it’s still got twelve bullets left. I tuck it into the waistband of my tattered clothes, wincing as the cold metal presses against my bruised skin. I grip the pole tightly, feeling its solid weight grounding me. I know I need to move fast, but I also know that rushing in without a plan is a sure way to get myself killed.
The gun feels heavy and alien in my hand, but I grasp it tightly, a grim determination settling over me. I step over the bodies of the guards, their faces forever etched in my memory, but their deaths are a stepping stone to my ultimate goal. I can’t help but glance at the lifeless bodies of the poor women who were here before me, and I swallow hard, making a silent vow before leaving.
He’ll pay.
The hallway outside is eerily lit by lanterns, dimly illuminating the surrounding bricks.
Each step I take sends daggers of pain through my ribs, forcing me to breathe in shallow pants. My vision blurs and doubles from my swollen eye, making me blink constantly to focus. The cold stone against my bare feet sends shivers through my battered body, and dried blood pulls at my skin with every movement. My jaw throbs in time with my heartbeat, making it hard to swallow, to speak, to do anything but keep going.
Every sense is heightened. Anyone could come at any minute, and I need to be on high alert.
The hallway stretches out before me, every shadow a potential enemy. I keep my back to the wall, the rough stone scraping against my skin, grounding me. Every step is a risk, every breath a conscious effort to stay silent, stay focused. The Glock is a cold, heavy presence against my skin, a reassuring weight that reminds me I’m not entirely at their mercy. Not anymore.
You’re a survivor, Lu. My mother’s voice stops me in my tracks, and tears fill my eyes. Then, my sister. Kill them all, Luella. I love you.
My family are with me. They’re here, by my side, guiding me to safety and vengeance. I straighten my spine and dare to look either side of me, positive I can feel them.
And they’re there.
Sophia doesn’t look damaged anymore; she looks as beautiful and relaxed as she did during her happiest moments. She’s beside my mom, who smiles and waves at me to go forward.
I suck in a breath and try to apologize for not saving them, for not doing something, anything to stop their deaths. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, emotion choking my voice. “I wish I could have saved you, but I avenged you, Mom, and I’ll do it for you too, Soph, I promise.”
My heart feels like it’s breaking for my sister, my mother, and every other woman who’s had her life taken from her for Xavier’s sick perversions.
For any woman who has been through it.
Because we aren’t just fucking sex toys, something to use and abuse.
We’re women, and we’re strong. It doesn’t matter what they do to us, we survive, and even if we don’t, you can guarantee that we’d have fought fucking hard.
In the dim light of the hallway, I can almost see them nod, their faces soft with understanding. They don’t blame me. They know I was just a kid, just as powerless as they were. Sophia mouths something to me, her eyes fierce yet kind. “Fight, Lu,” she whispers, her voice echoing in my mind. My mother nods in agreement, her eyes filled with a strength I hadn’t seen since her last days.
I blink away the tears, my vision clearing. They’re gone, but their presence lingers, a warmth in the cold hallway. I take a deep breath, the air filling my lungs with renewed purpose. I’m not just fighting for myself; I’m fighting for them, for every woman whose life Xavier has destroyed.
I say a prayer for the victims, myself included, and feel a calm wash over me.
Now, to find Xavier’s office.
I pull open the heavy door that leads to the main basement level, my heart hammering in my chest.
Where the fuck had I been earlier? Hell? What’s below a fucking basement?
Someone is yelling, and I can hear footsteps. I slide my gun from my waistband and wait, bracing myself to take another life.
But then I cock my head, listening to the sound of yelling once more.
It’s not female, and...what’s that?
They’re calling for help.
It’s a man.
I stride forward, my gun held out in front of me. With each step down the horror movie-like corridor, I creep more cautiously, the yells intensifying. The man’s cries for help echo off the cold stone walls, sending a shiver down my spine. I keep my gun steady, my finger on the trigger, ready for anything. As I round a corner, I see a heavy wooden door slightly ajar, a faint light flickering from within. I press myself against the wall, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepare to face whatever is behind that door.
With a deep breath, I kick the door open, my gun pointed straight ahead. The sight before me is not what I expected. There, chained to the wall, is Xavier—the monster who has haunted my nightmares for so long. His once-pristine suit is now torn and bloody, his face a mess of bruises and sweat. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with fear and pain, a pathetic shadow of the man who had once wielded so much power.
“Luella,” he rasps, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Please...help me.”
I stare at him, my mind racing. This is the man who has taken everything from me, who has destroyed my family, who has used and abused countless women. And now, here he is, at my mercy. I lower the gun slightly, a cold smile spreading across my face.
“Help you?” I remark, my voice dripping with venom. “Like how you helped my sister? Like how you helped my mother?”
Xavier’s eyes widen, and he begins to babble, pleading for forgiveness, for mercy. But I’m not listening. I’m not hearing his words. All I can see is the suffering he’s caused, the lives he’s ruined. I step closer, the gun now pointed at his forehead.
“You deserve this,” I say, my voice steady. “You deserve to suffer like they did. Like I did.”
Xavier’s pleas turn to sobs, but I feel no pity. I feel only a cold, hard resolve. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment I’ve dreamed of. I take a deep breath, my finger tightening on the trigger.
But then, a sound behind me makes me freeze. I turn slightly, keeping the gun trained on Xavier, and see Colton standing in the doorway. His eyes are wild, his hair disheveled, and he’s holding a knife, blood dripping from its blade. He looks from me to Xavier, his expression unreadable.
“Colton,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
He steps into the room, his movements slow and deliberate. The color drains from his face as his gaze tracks each injury: the swollen eye, my savagely cut hair, the way I’m favoring my left side. His hands begin to shake, and I watch his throat work as he swallows hard, struggling to contain his reaction. A muscle in his jaw tics rapidly, and his breathing becomes erratic, like he’s fighting for control. When he sees my torn clothes, the evidence of what they did to me, a sound escapes him—something between a growl and a whimper.
The sight of him standing there, rage etched on his face, makes my heart race. His familiar scent, a mix of leather and cologne, fills my nostrils, and I can almost taste the fury radiating from him. The sound of his breathing, ragged and uneven, echoes in the silence of the room, and the heat of his body warms the cold air around me.
“Luella,” he says, my name a harsh whisper on his lips. His chest heaves with each breath, the muscles in his neck taut with fury. He steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he looks away.
I can feel the intensity of his gaze, the raw emotion pouring out of him. It’s overwhelming, like standing too close to a wildfire, but I don’t look away. I meet his stare, letting him see the pain and anger in my own eyes.
His jaw clenches as he takes another step closer, his eyes scanning my body, taking in every injury, every mark left by the men who hurt me. His breath hitches, and I can almost feel the rage boiling inside him, threatening to explode.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Tell me, Luella. Tell me who hurt you.”
His free hand reaches out, gently tracing the bruise on my cheek, his touch featherlight. I flinch slightly, not from pain, but from the unexpected tenderness. His eyes soften for a moment, but the rage is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.
“What...what did they do to you?” he demands, his voice shaking with fury. “Tell me, Luella.”
I can see the storm raging in his eyes, the darkness swirling with the promise of violence. I know that if I give him names, he’ll hunt them down, make them pay for what they did to me. But I don’t need a knight on a white horse. I save myself, every fucking time.
“It doesn’t matter,” I respond, my voice steady despite the emotions churning inside me. “They’re dead. I took care of it.”
His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise and something like pride flashing across his face. But the rage is still there, still burning.
“And him?” he asks, jerking his chin towards Xavier, who’s watching our exchange with wide, fearful eyes. “What about him?”
I turn back to Xavier, the gun still pointed at his forehead. “He deserves to suffer,” I answer, my voice cold. “He deserves to pay for what he did to me, to my family, to all those women.”
Colton nods, his expression darkening. “He does,” he agrees, his voice like ice. “And it has to be us who ends it.”