25. Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Five
Byron
T he stench of my waste hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of bleach and the metallic scent of blood. It’s suffocating, clinging to my skin as I watch in horror. He’s fucking my sister. The act is so vile, so unspeakable, that my stomach churns violently—but my body betrays me.
A twisted game. A pawn on his board.
My cock twitches against my will, a cruel and disgusting reminder of how broken I am. How sick I’ve become. Proving, once again, that my father was right.
“GAbrIELA!” I scream at the screen, my voice cracking, raw and useless. My body strains against the chain that anchors me to the ground, the metallic links biting into my neck as the leather collar sears my raw skin. My hands, bloodied and shaking, pull futilely at the chain, but the weight is unyielding.
The sharp scent of metal and sweat clings to me, thick in the stale air. My mouth is dry, the thirst clawing at my throat like sandpaper, and my stomach growls angrily, hollow and aching. I feel weaker with every passing second, each attempt to fight back draining the last vestiges of strength I have left.
On the screen, Ren strides toward the camera, his smirk wide and gleaming like a blade. His bare chest glistens with sweat, and the satisfied curve of his lips makes me sick. A true predator.
The screen cuts to black, plunging me into silence. The oppressive quiet presses down, magnifying the rhythmic clink of the chain as it drags against the floor when I slump forward. Fury, guilt, and helplessness churn inside me, each emotion stabbing at my already fractured mind.
Grabbing the black pouch—the one containing the gauze and ointment meant to mock me—I hurl it at the screen. It bounces off with a dull thud, the sound an insult to my effort. My throat tightens, and I clutch at my collar, my nails scraping against the leather.
“Protect her, mijo,” my mother’s voice whispers from the depths of my memory, soft and haunting. “She’s not like you. Es una rosa, delicada.” A rose. Delicate.
I let out a guttural growl, slamming my fists into my head as if I could drive her words away. The hunger, the thirst, the pain—they’re nothing compared to the suffocating weight of my failure. My naked body slumps forward, the cold tiles sending a shiver up my spine.
I claw at the grout between the tiles, my nails digging deep until they crack and bleed. The sharp sting is a welcome distraction, the pain grounding me when the rest of the world feels like it’s slipping away.
A sob erupts from my throat, raw and broken. It wracks my body, shaking me to the core. I can’t protect her. Not like this. I see her face—her body limp, her blood painting Ren’s canvas in a grotesque masterpiece.
“Never,” I whisper, my voice a weak promise to the memory of her smile.
I slump lower, my forehead pressing against the tiles. The chain rattles softly as I shift, the collar’s edge biting into the tender, raw skin of my neck. Every tug feels like fire, but I pull anyway, desperate to move, desperate to feel anything other than this suffocating despair.
My nails dig deeper into the grout, staining the white cracks with streaks of red. “I will end you,” I mutter, the words a vow spoken to the cold air, to the camera I know still watches.
Ren can do whatever he wants to me. Break me. Starve me. Hurt me.
But Gabriela? Never.
I lift my head, the world spinning as thirst and exhaustion blur the edges of my vision. The chains clink again as I move, the sound mocking my every effort. My body is weak, trembling from hunger, from thirst, from despair.
I close my eyes, and all I can see is Gabriela—her brown eyes dull and lifeless, her blood pooling beneath her like some cruel artist’s brushstroke.
“No,” I growl, the word breaking like a fractured prayer. I slam my head into the tiles, once, twice—the pain sharp and immediate. By the third strike, stars burst behind my eyes, and the world fades into merciful blackness.