Chapter 11
Damien
Five Days Later
My screams fill the room. No matter how hard I try to swallow them, they keep bubbling back up.
I attempt to thrash, to move swiftly enough to buck him off, but to no avail.
The restraints are tighter than ever, and my limbs are pulled so taut that I can’t bend my joints.
Saconne has a much heavier hand than DeLuca, but he’s not much quieter.
His taunts are just as ruthless. The main subject of his ammunition isn’t my wife, though—it’s my men.
Audio that I’ve never heard before plays through the screen’s speakers, giving me new images to conjure up.
Because I’m on the table, I can’t see the footage, but I can hear their screams and cries.
He keeps switching between the branding and electrical prods, and refrains from any particular order so I can’t tell what’s coming next.
The table I’m on has holes, giving him access to the most sensitive spaces from underneath.
I never thought they would burn my ass, but I’m sure it looks like hamburger meat by now.
There are tiny moments when he switches tools that the burning fades, but it never lasts for long.
The pain is constant. When I’m not crying out in agony, Bradley’s screams take their place.
At first, it was Jeremy’s, but that audio only lasted a few hours.
I’m sure they’ll switch to Darren’s torture soon enough, just so they can get the point across.
I get it… I understand that this is a punishment, but what they don’t understand, is that it’s not because of the mission…
It’s because of what I’ve done.
When my eyes aren’t clenched shut in anguish, I see them.
Their bodies hang from the ceiling, just like they did in the warehouse.
I have cuts on my feet that match theirs, and I can’t help but count the wounds in each vision, wondering if there’s more that connect us now.
The markings on their bodies told me what they went through before they died, but now I hear it.
I see it. I feel it. My part in their demise continues to haunt me—this just gives their spirits fuel.
“How will you know when he’s had enough, Preside?” Victoria asks emotionlessly, but when I dare to sneak a glance, the revulsion in her eyes is clear. Her jaw is tight, and she stands perfectly still, like if she moves an inch, she’d topple over from the disgust.
“Whenever I deem it so, bambina,” Saconne replies. “As long as there is a gleam in his eyes, there is light to snuff out. Our assassins are soldiers, machines that only bow to our will. We must ensure that they will never submit to another.”
“Once healed, his body will turn to stone. The pain now will make him unstoppable later,” DeLuca interjects.
The stabbing and burning returns to my lower back, sending bolts of electricity through my limbs. Lightning rattles my spine, forcing the vertebrae to pop, even though I’m lying still. I can’t help but scream again as my jaw locks in place, sending even more pain through the back of my skull.
“His last mission was a failure. The next one must be successful.”
Saconne removes the prod and turns away, leaving my gaze stuck on the ceiling. Behind the flashes of white are the mutilated bodies that continue to hang in my mind. Each glimpse is another blow—another hit to my already-decaying mind.
“Come, Direttrice. Remind the feccia who he will answer to,” Saconne demands, but then it’s silence. There are no steps, no words. Just Bradley’s screams.
“If you want your reward, bambina, you will do as we say without hesitation,” DeLuca adds, and that’s when I hear shuffled movements.
Victoria’s untamed hair comes into view just before her midnight eyes.
Her face is still tense and plain, but the look in her gaze is apologetic, making me feel even weaker.
There’s a pinch on the inside of my arm, drawing my attention.
Saconne is injecting me once again, and the moment it starts to burn, my body locks up.
All of my muscles tense at once, except for the pounding one in my chest, and my skin begins to charge.
My body must have been saving all of the electricity they’ve forced into me, because now I feel like it’s battling to rise to the surface.
“Nel momento in cui si schianterà, avremo bisogno di un altro campione. Se aspettiamo troppo a lungo, non riusciremo a recuperarlo, e l'ultima cosa di cui la Società ha bisogno è di accumulare ritardi.” DeLuca looks at Saconne with a warning glare.
“We’ll get your God forsaken samples,” Saconne mutters.
I draw in a sharp breath, snapping my eyes open unwillingly.
The weight on my left arm sends warning through my mind, only to be snuffed out the moment I look down.
Ashia lays beside me in perfect stillness.
Her face is relaxed, and her chest rises and falls in calm breaths—completely unlike me.
My chest is heaving and so much sweat mists my body, I’ve probably soaked the sheets.
The memory is still fresh, forcing me to look around the room.
I know that I’m home, in our bed and next to my wife, but my mind continues to play tricks.
DeLuca’s voice still whispers in my ears, and ghostly caresses of pain swipe down my back, forcing me to wince.
I pull my arm out as gently as I can, not wanting to wake her, and sit up on the edge of the bed.
Something as simple as standing up straight shouldn’t hurt this much.
I feel elderly, even though I’m only twenty-eight.
The reality of what happened keeps forcing its way in, no matter how hard I try to push it out.
Every waking moment, I'm reminded of what I had to endure, and what I did… I’m desperate to think of something else—anything else—and get back to our life.
Weak…
I don’t want to remember. Every time I close my eyes, I catch glimpses of myself flying through the air or flashes of unfamiliar homes.
Red clouds my vision at the worst times, reminding me of the pain I both caused and suffered from.
Serena’s main concern remains on the prolonged electrical exposure, as well as the back and forth between the adrenaline and sedatives.
She wants to make sure my heart won’t give out.
I don’t think that’ll be a problem. As long as there’s time to atone for my mistakes, I’ll be alive to work for it.
There’s not much we can do about the pain in my back, and I’ve refused medications.
I don’t deserve them, and the last thing I need is something else to make me drowsy—that would only give these voices what they need to thrive.
As I stand up straight, my eyes scan the room again, needing to reassure myself.
I feel like a fucking kid with a nightlight, but Ashia’s idea of putting an illuminated air-freshener was a good idea.
Up until a few nights ago, when I would wake, the darkness would immediately snap my brain into action, thinking I was still there.
I would wake with a start, much like now, but it was harsh enough that I would wake her.
It wasn't so extreme that I would lash out, thankfully, but I also didn't want to risk it.
My gaze drifts back to my perfect wife, and I can't help but stare.
The soft glow from the light just barely reaches her face, making her features look even softer.
She's angelic. The urge to confess my sins keeps trying to force its way to the forefront of my mind…
but I keep shoving it away. I don't know what I would do if her divine eyes ever saw me differently than they do now.
My body stretches and strains as I move, but I force myself to anyway, despite the resistance. I'm not going back to sleep any time soon, and there’s no need to disturb her rest. I just need to keep my mind busy. If I focus on another task, the voices won't be able to swarm me.
Liar…
That icy whisper sends tremors down my back, making me flinch.
There’s a chill to the room that isn’t normally present, but that only attests to how quickly time is moving.
It’s mid-October, now, and the weather is starting to cool off.
As I look at Ashia curled up under her blanket, I know she's grateful for it.
The heat made her extremely uncomfortable, and it's refreshing to not worry about her fainting.
When I reach her side of the bed, I can't resist tucking her in. I pull the blanket up to her chin and slide the loose fabric around her belly, needing to make sure she’s comfortable.
She doesn’t think I've noticed her aches as well, and I know she's downplaying her symptoms because she's concerned with me.
Serena has yet to convince her to actually use the body pillow she bought, and I'm conflicted.
A part of me doesn’t want her using it, but only because I'm a selfish prick who wants her in my arms for the rest of my life, and I can’t do that with a stack of fluff between us.
Sinful…
Go. The fuck. Away.
I close my eyes and breathe in her scent, needing her to drown them out.
Just as I go to move my hands, a soft kick nudges against my palm, silencing the voices instantly.
My chest warms at the feeling, bringing me back to Zeke’s words: “She knows her daddy.” Something about those four words flipped my entire world on its axis.
He may not have been serious, but fuck, I took it to heart…
That one sentence healed and broke me all at the same time.
It’s both everything I've wanted and dreaded. I truly thought I could be the man my baby girl deserved. Whenever I’ve imagined her, I think about her eyes.
Sometimes, I imagine her having eyes like mine.
Most of the time, though, she’ll have her mother’s.
But no matter whose genetics she receives, one thing has always stayed the same.
She looks up at me with those eyes like I’m her hero.