CHAPTER NINE
Adrian
There was only darkness.
My eyes were open, I knew they were… but I couldn’t see anything.
The metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils, coating the back of my throat.
The darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating and mocking… consuming… an absolute evil.
I was on my knees, blindly reaching for something, but I didn’t know what for.
Blood.
Thick and viscous on my palms.
I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, couldn’t make out where the walls ended or began. I couldn’t see a fucking thing, but I could feel it. Warm and slick between my fingers.
It was everywhere. The blood seemed endless, pooling around me, seeping into my clothes, tainting my flesh with it.
My heart hammered against my ribs, fear slithering through my veins like poison.
“Help…”
The whisper sliced through the silence—female, broken, pained… barely audible. It was so faint I almost missed it.
“Help…”
It was hauntingly familiar in a way that made my chest constrict painfully. My lungs seemed to cave in on themselves until I could no longer breathe.
“Where are you?” I called out, my voice echoing in the void.
I reached forward blindly, fingers groping through the darkness. My hand connected with something. A fabric. Soaked through with what could only be more blood. I followed it, feeling the contours of a body and then my fingers touched skin.
Cold flesh. Too cold.
“Help me…”
“I’m trying!” Panic rose in my chest until breathing seemed impossible. It felt like every organ in my body was failing me. “Stay with me. It’s okay.”
Why couldn’t I fucking see?
A sudden cry pierced the dark void, high-pitched, insistent.
A baby’s wail.
The sound sent a jolt of fear and horror through me.
My heart faltered and then lurched into my throat.
No, there shouldn’t be a child here. Not in this place that smelled like death. Putrid, decaying, rotting.
A freezing coldness seeped through my veins, into my bones, paralyzing me.
The cries were desperate, almost accusatory.
My stomach heaved, acid burning the back of my throat as I forced it down. Bitter bile coated my tongue and I could still taste the blood in my mouth.
“No,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat. “No.”
Please, no.
I knew whose blood this was, whose voice had begged for help…
The baby’s cries intensified, becoming a piercing wail that stabbed mercilessly, endlessly into my skull, my ears echoing with it.
“No, no, NO—”
I jolted upright, gasping for air. Sweat drenched my body, my heart hammering violently into my chest, bruising against my ribs. For a moment, I couldn’t place where I was, my eyes darting wildly around the room.
My bedroom. My bed. The sheets twisted around my legs like restraints.
“Fuck,” I rasped, running a shaking hand through my sweat-soaked hair. My chest heaved as I tried to slow my breathing. The nightmares were getting worse.
I glanced at the clock and the time glared back at me.
3:15 a.m. The witching hour. How fucking ironic.
I squeezed my eyes shut, dragging my hand down my face. My skin was clammy with cold sweat.
The phantom scent of blood still filled my nostrils, though I knew it wasn’t real. Just like the voice. Just like the baby’s cries.
None of it was real. It wasn’t.
It. Was. Not. Real.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered, throwing off the covers. Sleep wasn’t going to return tonight; it never did after that.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. The chill shot up through my legs, but I barely registered it. The dream clung to me like a second skin, suffocating. Clawing at my insides.
Unadulterated rage filled me. Raw. Frightening. Consuming. Poisonous.
With a growl of frustration, I dropped to the floor. My palms slapped against the wood as I positioned myself, muscles coiling before I began driving my body up and down. One push-up. Two. Three. The movement was vicious, punishing.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
My arms trembled with the effort, but I pushed harder. Faster. The physical strain was a welcome distraction from the images that flooded my mind, refusing to leave.
Blood. So much fucking blood.
It had been everywhere, coating every surface in crimson red.
Twenty. Thirty. Forty.
Sweat dripped from my forehead, splashing onto the floor beneath me. My breath came in harsh pants, muscles screaming in protest, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I’d have to think. And thinking meant remembering.
The face in my mind shifted. No longer the woman from my nightmare, but him. Always him. His smug smile. His calculated eyes.
“Fuuuck!” The word tore from my throat in a snarl as I pushed through the burning in my chest, my shoulders, my arms.
Sixty. Seventy.
My arms began to shake uncontrollably. The tremors started at my wrists and worked their way up to my shoulders. Still, I forced myself through another rep. And another.
The fury that had been simmering beneath my skin since I woke pulsed with each heartbeat, consuming me.
It wasn’t just this nightmare.
It was every-goddamn-thing.
My father.
Matteo.
This fucking family legacy that had ruined us all.
My arms finally gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving, breaths coming out in harsh, echoing pants.
For several minutes, I just lay there, cheek pressed against the cool wood, letting the physical pain wash over me.
When I could move again, I dragged myself up and leaned back against the bed, legs sprawled out in front of me. My muscles cramped viciously, but the pain was clarifying. It cut through the fog of rage and gave me something to focus on besides the bloodstained memories.
I reached for the nightstand, fingers closing around the pack of cigarettes I kept there. With practiced ease, I shook one out and brought it to my lips, then flicked my lighter. The flame danced in the darkness, casting eerie shadows across the room before illuminating the end of my cigarette.
The first drag was deep, filling my lungs with smoke. I held it there, letting it burn, before letting out a long, controlled exhale through my nose. The nicotine hit my bloodstream, a small comfort against the storm seething through my veins.
The smoke curled upward in the dim light, ghostly tendrils reaching toward the ceiling.
He took everything from me.
He thought he was untouchable.
The second drag was smoother. The trembling in my hands began to subside.
Vengeance burned through me. It was wild and ferocious, a venom that corroded everything it touched.
Every moment of his suffering would be deliberate. Calculated. I would make every second count. I wasn’t going to stop until the last ounce of arrogance was wrung from the bastard’s bones and I’d savor each moment of his downfall.
Every second... every minute… every day…
I was going to make it fucking hurt.
The type of unimaginable pain he would be begging for reprieve and I’d give him none.
Just like he had been so merciless toward her…