28. Lucrezia
Chapter 28
Lucrezia
T he bathroom is quiet, the darkness outside pressing against the window as if trying to peek in. The power’s still out across the block, but I don’t mind. I’ve got just enough moonlight filtering through the window to see shapes—the sink, the outline of towels folded neatly on a shelf, the curved edge of the medicine cabinet—and that’s all I need. I turn on the shower’s knob, feeling the pipes groan softly before water spurts out in a muted rush. The scent of soap, faint and comforting, begins to fill the small space.
Warm steam drifts upward in lazy curls, and I can almost pretend it’s a normal night. After everything we’ve been through together, Raiden and I ended the evening in a way I never thought possible: dinner, laughter, and a tenderness I’ve never known. Being with Raiden is like discovering a new color, one I’ve never seen before but instantly craved as if my world had been muted until he walked into it. The vulnerability terrifies me, but somehow, it also feels like coming home.
Yet beneath this newfound warmth lies a faint, nagging unease. The block is dark, and the hour is late. The longer I stand here, leaning against the cool porcelain sink, the more I feel a subtle prickle at the back of my neck, as if eyes are watching me.
It’s probably paranoia , I tell myself. Just my mind refusing to accept calm after chaos, still braced for the next storm even in a peaceful harbor. I exhale and close my eyes for a moment, letting the hush of water lull me into something approaching serenity. Raiden’s upstairs, probably making the bed or lying in the dark waiting for me. The thought makes me smile—an unexpected softness blooming in my chest, spreading warmth through my ribcage like honey in hot tea. For once, I’m not alone.
A sudden movement behind me—a shift of air, a presence—cuts through my thoughts like a knife. I try to whirl around, but it’s too late. A large hand clamps around my throat, squeezing just enough to steal my voice and send terror jolting through every nerve. My eyes fly open, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my temples. I reach up, clawing at the vice-like grip, nails scraping uselessly against skin and fabric. The world narrows to pinpricks of light as panic floods my system, turning my limbs to lead even as they struggle against my attacker. I can feel callused fingers pressing into my windpipe, methodical in their pressure—this is no amateur, this is no random assault. This is someone who knows exactly how much force to use to keep me conscious but helpless.
“Shh,” a low, venomous whisper tickles my ear. “You had your chance to pick the right man, Lux, and you chose wrong. You always choose wrong.” The words are laced with poison, dripping with years of pent-up resentment and rage. Kristopher.
My pulse thunders, panic flooding my veins. I catch a glimpse of him in the foggy mirror, highlighted in the moonlight streaming through the small bathroom window—his eyes contain a twisted joy, dark and hungry, his mouth curved into an almost euphoric smile. He’s enjoying this, savoring my struggle like a connoisseur savoring a fine wine. The steam from my interrupted shower makes everything hazy, giving his reflection a nightmarish quality. Each desperate breath I manage to draw feels like sucking air through cotton, and the edges of my vision blur and dance.
I thrash wildly, kicking backward and trying to loosen his grip around my throat. He’s strong, far stronger than I remember, or maybe the fear robs me of my strength. His hold tightens like a vice, fingers digging deeper into my windpipe, and a horrible choking sound escapes my lips. Dark spots dance and multiply across my field of vision, a constellation of impending unconsciousness. I try to scream Raiden’s name, but all that comes out is a strangled croak that barely carries beyond the steam-filled bathroom.
“Don’t fight it, darling,” Kristopher hisses. His free hand emerges with something slender and metallic, catching the faint gleam of moonlight—a syringe. My mind screams in silent horror. He jams it into my neck before I can jerk away. The sting is quick, a hot spike of pain. Almost instantly, my limbs turn to lead. The world tilts, and my head fills with static.
My body betrays me, going slack in his hold like a puppet with severed strings. I can’t move, can’t even twitch a finger. I try to raise my arm, but the signal from my brain can’t reach my muscles through the drug-induced haze. Kristopher’s breath smells of mint and something bitter—like almonds and decay—his face swimming in and out of focus before my heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re coming with me now. Where you belong.” His words drip with a possessive satisfaction that makes my skin crawl, even through the numbness spreading through my limbs.
He drags me out of the bathroom, my toes skimming uselessly against the floor. I’m fading fast, vision painting the hallway in broad strokes of gray. I manage to catch broken images: a lamp knocked aside, the front door yawning open, and the cool night air rushing in. Outside, it’s silent save for his labored breathing and the distant chirp of a single cricket. He hefts me over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and I feel nauseated by the sway of his movements.
I struggle to focus, to remember the layout of the neighborhood, to scream Raiden’s name—anything. But my throat won’t cooperate. My tongue feels too big, and my lips are numb. A groan escapes, a pathetic attempt at a word that dissolves into nothing. Kristopher chuckles softly. “Oh, Lux,” he murmurs, voice dripping with mock affection. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re quiet.”
The night sky blurs as he maneuvers me into a car, my head lolling against the frame. I glimpse the shape of the vehicle’s interior through heavy-lidded eyes: a cheap pine-scented air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror and crumpled fast-food bags and greasy wrappers scattered across the passenger seat. He dumps me unceremoniously in the back, my limbs splaying awkwardly across the worn upholstery, and slams the door with enough force to make my ears ring. The engine starts with a turn of keys, a low rumble that vibrates through the seat and into my bones. We’re moving, each rotation of the tires taking me further away from Raiden, further away from safety.
My eyes flutter open and closed. Streetlights pass by outside, their glow stretching and bending into meaningless smears. I catch a sliver of Kristopher’s profile in the rearview mirror—he’s humming a tune I don’t recognize, something off-key but obviously pleasing to him. I try again to scream, but my mouth forms only garbled nonsense.
He notices my attempt, head tilting slightly to one side. “Still awake and fighting, I see,” he says softly as if greeting a beloved pet. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll feel better soon. Just rest. I have plans for us.” As he comes to a stoplight, he reaches back, brushing damp strands of hair from my face with a disturbingly gentle touch. His fingers linger too long, too intimately against my skin. The revulsion I feel is overwhelming, but the drug coursing through my system dulls my body’s ability to recoil, leaving me trapped in this nightmare of forced intimacy.
I slip into darkness, the world going silent for I don’t know how long. When I surface again, the car is still, the engine off, leaving only the soft tick of cooling metal. The door creaks open with a rusty protest, and frigid air assaults my senses, biting at my naked skin and making me wish I could shiver. Kristopher lifts me out, cradling me against his chest as if I’m precious cargo. I hear gravel under his boots. I want to fight, to bite, to tear at him with my nails until I draw blood, but my arms refuse to move. My body is a useless prison of flesh and bone.
A heavy door creaks open, hinges groaning in protest. The smell hits me first—damp, musty, with a hint of mold that creeps into my nostrils and settles like a film at the back of my throat. Something metallic in the undertone, maybe rust or old blood, mingles with the decay and makes my stomach turn. My vision clears for a second, swimming into sharp focus before threatening to fade again: a dimly lit room with peeling wallpaper curling away from water-stained walls and a single naked lightbulb swaying gently overhead. The space feels small and claustrophobic.
I try to scream again—I’ll never stop trying, not while there’s still air in my lungs. I manage a sound that might have been a curse or a sob, but it emerges as a slurred moan. He lowers me onto a worn mattress on the floor, its surface lumpy and stained with substances I don’t want to identify. The springs creak beneath my weight.
“Shh,” Kristopher coos, crouching down beside me. His eyes reflect the lightbulb’s glow, making him look feverish and unhinged. “You’re safe now, Lux. No one’s going to hurt you ever again. Not Raiden, not Saverio, no one. You’re mine, and I will protect what’s mine.” His voice trembles with twisted devotion. His fingers ghost over my cheek in what he probably thinks is a gentle caress, and I realize with mounting horror that I’m trapped with a man who believes himself my savior and captor rolled into one.
I muster what remains of my will. Through the haze, I manage to shape one word with my weak tongue: “No.” It’s barely more than a breath, but it’s there, a spark of defiance burning through the chemical fog in my mind. My lips feel numb and clumsy, but that single syllable carries all my rejection, all my horror at his perverse fantasy. Kristopher’s face contorts for a split second, a flash of anger darkening his features like a thundercloud passing over the sun, and then he smooths it away with a forced smile that doesn’t quite reach his fever-bright eyes.
“You’ll come around,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “You always do.” He strokes my cheek again; each touch is a violation that makes my skin crawl. I force myself to meet his gaze, pouring every ounce of hatred into my eyes, willing them to burn through him like acid.
He stands, steps back, and looks over his shoulder with that same unsettling smile playing at the corners of his mouth. For a long moment, Kristopher stares at me, then he leaves. The door locks with a click, followed by the metallic jangle of keys. His footsteps fade into silence, leaving me alone with nothing but the sound of my own ragged breathing.
I’m alone in my new prison, trapped with shadows that creep along the walls like reaching fingers. The drug Kristopher injected into my neck tethers me to this nightmare, making my body unresponsive and my thoughts fuzzy and scattered. But one thought shines clear and bright, cutting through the stupor with the sharp edge of clarity: Raiden will come for me. The certainty of it burns in my chest.
Yes, Raiden will come. I anchor myself to that belief, holding it close as I drift toward unconsciousness again. Each blink grows longer and heavier. The darkness welcomes me in, and I let it, knowing that somewhere beyond these walls, beyond Kristopher’s madness, Raiden is out there—and he’s not going to let this stand. He’ll tear this place apart brick by brick if he has to.
The last thing I feel before the drug pulls me under again is a faint surge of fury and determination, a silent promise that I will not break. Let Kristopher think he’s won. He doesn’t understand that I’m not the frightened girl he imagines, not some fragile doll he can manipulate and control. He’s made his move—now all I can do is wait in the darkness until my next move reveals itself.
Unconsciousness takes me, wrapping around my thoughts like a heavy velvet curtain. My mind surrenders to the chemical haze, and all is quiet once more, my awareness slipping away into a bottomless void where even dreams dare not follow.