Chapter 42 Katerina
KATERINA
The zip tie digs deeper into my wrist, slicing through skin that's already raw and bleeding. I've been working at it for—how long? Hours? Days? Time blurs in this cellar with no windows, no light save for the single bulb hanging overhead.
I twist my hands again, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out. Blood makes my fingers slippery, which should help, but the plastic only seems to tighten with each attempt.
"Fuck," I whisper, leaning my head back against the cold stone wall. "Come on," I say, wishing my ties would loosen.
My body aches everywhere. Sebastian's men have been anything but gentle, and I can still feel the sting on my cheek where that prick hit me, still see the satisfaction in his eyes when I flinched.
I close my eyes, trying to focus, to push through all this pain.
Ares isn't coming.
The thought surfaces before I can stop it, and I hate myself immediately. Of course he'll come. He's Ares. He comes for what's his. Always.
But what if I'm not his anymore? Some of our last words were angry ones. I defended a man he believes killed his father. A man who potentially set him up all because of me.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought.
Blood drips down my fingers onto the cold stone floor, and I swear I get a whiff of his cologne—a cruel trick my mind is playing on me.
But what would I tell Ares, if I could see him again? If I could take back those angry words, handle things differently to avoid that stupid fight?
I close my eyes, and suddenly I'm back in our bedroom in Chicago. His fingertips tracing the outline of my scar. His eyes holding mine, never flinching away from the damaged parts of me. The first man who ever looked at me—all of me—and didn't see something broken.
"You're beautiful," he'd told me, and for the first time, I believed it.
I remember standing in front of that mirror at Hades, naked and exposed, my scarred side visible to both of us. I remember how I wanted to curl in on myself, to hide, but he wouldn't let me.
"See yourself," he'd said. "See what I see."
And slowly, through his eyes, I started to.
God, what I wouldn't give to go back to that moment. To feel his hands on my waist, pulling me against him. To feel his breath on my skin as he claimed me.
I never told him how proud I was of him. How he's done everything and more to lead our family. That his father would be proud. That he's grown, too.
We're both so scarred, so damaged. Both afraid to trust, unsure of our abilities, afraid to fail. But somehow, between all that, we found each other. And used our weakness to become the strongest we ever could.
I pull against my restraints again, harder this time, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that shoots up my arms. I will not die here. I will get back to him. I will tell him all the things I should have said before.
That I see him. That I understand him. That I know what it costs him every time he lets me in.
That I want to give him lots of children and grow old with him and help him in whatever dreams he has for our family. To be the best wife because he's made me the best woman.
A loud bang from somewhere above startles me from my thoughts. Shouting follows, then what sounds like furniture being overturned.
My heart leaps to my throat. Could it be?
No. I've been hearing things for hours. My mind playing tricks, giving me hope only to snatch it away again. It's just Sebastian and his men, probably drinking, celebrating. But if I'm really lucky, maybe one of them is choking on his food.
Then, more voices. Muffled, but unmistakable. Shouting.
I force myself to swallow, my throat painfully dry.
More footsteps overhead, heavier this time, like someone is running. The ceiling creaks.
Something shatters upstairs—it sounds like glass, lots of it. Bottles? A table? Then a crash. The sound of it instantly reminds me of how my bedroom windows exploded from the heat of the fire that forever changed me.
I push the memory away. I can only focus on one bad thing at a time.
More shouting now, and I'm almost certain I hear gunshots. Multiple gunshots. Some sound like firecrackers, others like mini booms.
Please let it be him.
I try to stand. If someone is coming, I'd rather they find me on my own two feet rather than slumped against the wall like a broken doll. Unfortunately, I can't move. The best I can do is sit up straight and blow the hair out of my face.
My heart beats so hard in my ribcage that I feel the pulsing in my temples. It's all grown louder now—I can't distinguish the individual sounds anymore; it's all merged into complete destruction above me. Something heavy hits the floor and for a second I think it'll come through the ceiling.
And then—
The entire building seems to shake. A deafening boom rattles my teeth and I instinctively duck my head, turning away as best I can with my hands still secured behind me.
An explosion. Not a grenade—bigger. The lightbulb hanging above my head flickers violently, and fine particles of dust and debris shower down from the ceiling.
"Shit," I gasp, coughing as some of it enters my lungs.
The voices are closer now. I can almost make out words. I look around like I can actually move and hide somewhere. Panic and hope war inside me, my thoughts racing too fast to grab hold of any single one.
Did Sebastian bring reinforcements? Maybe an even bigger fish in the organized crime pool of Greece? What if no one wins upstairs, and I'm left here to slowly die, forgotten in this hole?
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath.
Another crash, closer this time. And then a sound that makes my blood freeze—a scream. Raw, agonized. Not Ares. Please, not Ares.
And then I hear it. It's faint and sounds like it's far away.
My name—"Katerina!"
There's so much commotion, it's hard to know for sure, but it has to be. Right?
"I'm here!" I cry out, my voice hoarse. "I'm down here! Help!"
I hear someone at the door. Metal scraping against metal—keys or a lock being fiddled with. My heart leaps into my throat. Could it be?
The zip ties dig deeper into my raw wrists as I straighten up, ignoring the pain shooting through my shoulders.
The door finally gives way with a rusty creak, and my world shatters all over again.
Sebastian Makris stumbles in, his expensive suit torn and stained, his face shiny with sweat. His once carefully styled hair now is messy and matted with blood or sweat—I can't tell.
The composed, self-assured man who hit me for the camera is gone. In his place stands someone frantic, disheveled, and unmistakably afraid.
He slams the door behind him and paces the small cellar, muttering to himself. He doesn't even look at me, like I've become irrelevant in whatever new crisis he's facing.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he mumbles, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead with a trembling hand. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted him. This was supposed to be clean. He lied."
I watch him silently, unsure what he'll do.
Something's gone terribly wrong for Sebastian, and from the sounds of chaos coming from all around us, I can guess what—or rather, who—that something is.
A smile tugs at my split lip. I shouldn't provoke him. I know I shouldn't. But the sight of the man who hurt me, who threatened me, who used me as bait—now reduced to a panicking mess—is too satisfying to ignore.
I gather every ounce of strength left in my beaten body and twist my lips into what I hope is a taunting smile.
"What's the matter, Sebastian?" My voice comes out rougher now, my throat raw from my earlier screams. "Scared of my husband now?"
He freezes mid-stride, head snapping toward me like he'd forgotten I was even there. For a second, I see pure shock in his eyes. Maybe it's from the fact the woman tied to a chair, beaten and bloodied, would dare to mock him—or maybe it's from Ares.
His face then contorts with rage. He crosses the room in two quick strides and his hand connects with my cheek with such force that my head whips to the side. Pain explodes across my face, hot and sharp. My own blood splatters across the barrel and the taste of copper fills my mouth.
But I don't cry out. I won't give him that.
Instead, I slowly turn my face back to him and smile through bloodied lips and stained red teeth. I can feel warm blood trickling down my chin, but I don't care. He can't break me.
A deafening boom shakes the building above us, followed by a cascade of gunfire. Closer this time—much closer. Shouts and screams echo down to us, and I recognize one voice cutting through all the others.
Deep. Commanding. Filled with cold rage.
Ares.
He's close. So close.
Sebastian's eyes dart to the ceiling, then to the door, panic spilling out of him. He knows that voice too. And he knows what it means.
"Did you really think my man wouldn't burn this entire country to the ground to find me?"
"You fucking bitch," Sebastian yells and raises his hand again, eyes wild with fear and fury, preparing to strike me once more.
I close my eyes, bracing for the impact.
But it never comes.
The door explodes open with such force it nearly tears from its hinges. Wood splinters fly through the air like shrapnel.
And there he is.
My husband stands in the doorway like the god of war come to life.
His white shirt is soaked crimson, torn in several places revealing glimpses of skin and his tattoos beneath.
His knuckles are split and bleeding. A deep cut slices across his cheek, still dripping blood.
His chest heaves with each ragged breath, nostrils flaring like a predator who's caught the scent of his prey.
But it's his eyes that freeze the blood in my veins. Empty. Devoid of anything human. He's on a kill path and won't be stopped until every last man is destroyed.
Those eyes lock onto Sebastian, whose hand is still suspended in the air above my face. In that frozen second, I see Sebastian's expression shift from rage to pure terror as he realizes what's standing before him.