Broken By Silence (Bound and Broken duet #2)

Chapter 1

Lottie

He’s dying in my arms.

There’s so much blood I can’t tell where it ends and where I begin. It’s soaking into my sweater. It’s under my nails. It’s in my mouth.

I taste it every time I open my lips to breathe or cry or whisper his name to get him to hang on.

He’s heavier than I thought he would be. His hand finds my face, slick and shaking, and I lean into it like it matters. Like my touch alone can anchor him to this world.

“Because this is where I wanted to die,” he smiles at me weakly, and I want to scream.

I shake my head. “No. You don’t get to be an asshole to me, then do this.”

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it, but his grip feels weak, like he’s barely hanging on. My hand tightens around his so hard that it feels as if I hold on tight enough, he’ll live.

“I’m so sorry. So sorry for hurting you, and making you think you were weak…” he coughs, blood coating his mouth.

“It’s fine,” I cry, pressing my forehead to his. “I’ll forgive you if you don’t die.”

I say the words like a plea and a promise, as if my forgiveness will make him magically okay again. I press my hands harder against the wound, but they just sink in, too soft and too slow to stop what’s happening.

All the pain and loss rise to the surface as I feel him grow heavier in my arms.

The hiding.

It was all undone the moment Roman bled a breadcrumb trail back to me. And now the monster who ruined me… who destroyed all of our lives knows I’m still alive.

I want to scream at Roman. Shake him. Break him apart for breaking me again—but all I can do is hold his face and beg him to stay.

Archer moves around me, and Oscar stands by, towels in hand, passing a new one to Archer as each one soaks through with his blood… Roman’s blood.

I feel like I’m splintering apart as Roman’s eyes flutter shut.

“You’re not a monster,” I whisper, hot tears spilling onto his skin.

His mouth parts, but nothing comes out. Instead, he smiles, like he’s finally seeing the light after years in the darkness.

His eyes close, and my chest cracks open.

“No. No, no, no!” My voice breaks. I palm his face, staining his cheek crimson with his blood. “Roman, look at me!”

Then Archer’s there, dragging me away.

I watch in horror as Roman’s head cracks against the floor.

“Lottie, I need you to move… Now!” Archer’s voice cuts like a blade. It snaps something inside me, and I scramble back.

Not too far. I hover, frozen, knees slipping in his blood. I watch as Archer drops beside him, ripping open Roman’s shirt with hands that don’t shake from years of training.

I’d almost forgotten how controlled Archer is… how quickly the chaos stops obeying its own rules when he speaks.

Will comes barreling through the door with the med kit, and suddenly everything is a blur of panicked voices and footsteps… panic that feels too distant, like I’m watching someone else’s nightmare.

I don’t even realize I’m sobbing until Archer snaps his fingers in front of me, pressing gauze to Roman’s chest. “Lottie! Baby, I know this is terrifying, but I need your help. Need you to keep pressure here.”

I nod. Numb and terrified, but I obey.

“He’s in shock,” Archer mutters. “Too much blood loss. If the idiot had driven himself to the hospital, he wouldn’t be in this state, but it didn’t hit his heart. Low enough, it might’ve missed major arteries, and I can’t see an exit wound.”

Archer’s mom calls out from the kitchen. “The ambulance is almost here. Three minutes.”

Three minutes.

Roman might not have three minutes.

I press harder, even as Roman grunts in pain.

Good. If he’s acknowledging the pain, then he’s alive.

His hand twitches like he’s reaching for me, but I can’t reach for it, no matter how much I want to.

My hands are soaked in him, my arms trembling from the pressure.

“You don’t get to die,” I whisper. “You don’t get to die, Roman Valen. Not here. Not in front of me and certainly not before I get my revenge. I’m not done with you yet…”

Roman’s eyes flutter open—barely. Blood runs from the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t speak, but I see how his eyes flicker, glazed… no longer here.

“No!” I cry. “No goodbye. You don’t get to—”

His hand jerks.

His eyes close again.

He stops breathing.

“Archer!” I look to him, eyes pleading with him to save my tormentor.

“I’ve got him—” Archer starts chest compressions. “Dad, help me!”

Oscar hauls me out of the way, pulling me to stand as I watch helplessly from the side. Will moves fast, taking my place, but his hands are steady.

Together they work over Roman’s chest like they’ve done before, but I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

I don’t pray.

I don’t believe after everything I’ve been through.

But I do now because Roman doesn’t get to show up bleeding and broken just to warn me.

He doesn’t get to say sorry like he finally meant it.

He’s not allowed to leave this all undone.

I cry so hard it hurts. “Come on, you stubborn bastard.”

The front door slams open. Paramedics flood the room like angels of mercy and war, shouting orders and stabilising Roman enough to move him. One of them puts oxygen on him. Another checks his vitals. There’s a burst of movement, a voice saying, “Got a pulse,” and my legs collapse under me.

Oscar catches me before I hit the ground.

“He’s breathing, Lottie,” Archer says, voice hoarse. “He’s still here.”

But for how long?

They let me ride with him. They shouldn’t have, but something in my face must’ve unnerved them—something raw and wild, the same hollow desperation I saw in Roman’s eyes when he stumbled to my door, soaked in blood like it was his penance.

I don’t let go of his hand the entire ride. It’s slick, trembling, already cooling at the edges, and I hate him for it. I whisper his name like it’s the only thing holding him here, like I can anchor him to this world just by speaking it. Over and over—like a fucked up prayer, like a threat.

“You don’t get to leave, Roman.” My voice splinters and cracks, desperate to retreat into the silence that once held me together and kept me whole. “You don’t get to ruin me and then die in my arms like a hero. You’re the devil in my story, and I’m still owed my revenge.”

I lean in closer, clutching his hand tighter—just shy of breaking it. “If you die, I swear to God I’ll hunt your soul down and drag it back to hold hostage in a jar. You don’t get a peaceful eternity.”

His blood is still on my hands, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t even try to wipe it off. I let it dry. Let it stay. A reminder of what he’s done.

The sirens are screaming, but all I hear is his breath—shallow, dragging—like he’s already halfway gone. And still, somehow, the bastard looks peaceful. Like he’s escaping. Like this is freedom to him.

It makes something ugly crack open in my chest.

“You don’t get to leave me with all this wreckage, Roman. You don’t get to die and let me be the one who stays behind and explains your mess to the world.” My throat burns. “You let him know I was still alive. You ruined everything. You owe me, you son of a bitch. You owe me a thousand apologies.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even make a slight twitch at my words. Just lies there, slack-jawed and too quiet for a man who had no problem taunting me every day, like he’s daring me to feel sorry for him.

Like he wants to be forgiven.

But I don’t forgive him because dying for me doesn’t erase everything.

I press my forehead to the side of his and close my eyes. My voice drops to a whisper, barely human. “You die on me, Roman, and I’ll never let you rest.”

The ambulance jerks to a stop, and suddenly the doors are flung open and hands are dragging him away from me. I follow, numb, stumbling out into the light like something half-feral.

Someone tries to hold me back—some young nurse with soft eyes and gentler hands. I shake her off like she’s made of paper. “I said I’m going with him.”

They let me. Again. No one argues with the look on my face. No one argues with grief that already tastes like murder.

Inside, it’s all white walls and cold light and voices too calm for what’s happening. They rush him through swinging doors, shouting stats and doses, trying to keep him alive. I’m forced to stop at the threshold, watching them cut his shirt open, blood smeared across his chest like war paint.

I don’t pray because it never saved me.

I don’t beg because my pleas were never listened to.

I stand here, vibrating with fury, fear, and something worse. Hope.

He’s flatlining. I hear it.

That long, high note that signals to death that another soul is to be taken.

The kind they use in movies to say this is the end. But this isn’t a movie.

This is Roman Valen.

And Roman Valen doesn’t get to leave things unfinished.

My hands curl into fists, nails digging into my palm hard enough to get that sting of pain.

“You’re a coward,” I whisper, voice shaking. “You don’t get to die. Not until I’m done hating you.”

And maybe not even then.