Chapter 33
Harlow
A sharp ache pulses at the base of my skull, deep and unrelenting.
A groan slips past my lips as I shift, only to realize, I can’t move. My body slumps forward, my wrists weighted down, bound. Panic strikes before full consciousness does, my heart hammering a brutal, merciless rhythm against my ribs.
I pull, jerk, twist. The restraints bite into my skin, raw and unyielding. My breath catches, stomach knotting violently as my vision sharpens, snapping into focus.
Concrete walls. Cold. Damp. Stained with decay. The air is thick, suffocating. The rancid stench of mold and something worse—something rotting, claws at my throat, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake me. I inhale through my nose, forcing it down.
Where the hell am I?
I yank at the restraints, disregarding the sharp burn searing my wrists. Where were the guards at the gates? Where was Piero? Questions flood my mind, each one met with silence, no answers, no logic, only the chilling certainty of my predicament.
What I do know is that he succeeded this time.
The weight of that realization crashes over me. I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know what he’ll do. And that is what makes this dangerous, even more so because he is an unknown.
And I am completely at his mercy.
I inhale sharply. My pulse pounds against my skull. My eyes dart around, scanning, searching.
A door. A window. A way out.
But there’s nothing.
The walls are just cracked concrete, enclosing me like a tomb.
A sound freezes me in place.
Footsteps, descending the stairs. I swallow hard, every muscle in my body locking tight. My breath turns shallow, chest rising and falling with quiet urgency. I see his boots first, black, polished, menacing. Each step lands heavy against the worn wooden stairs, the sound reverberating through the stagnant air.
I force myself to look higher. Up thick, powerful legs. A broad frame. Shadows cling to him like a second skin, obscuring, distorting.
We lock eyes.
A jolt of shock slices through my gut.
He tilts his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, too pleased, like a man who’s waited far too long for this. His voice is low and insidious.
“All that fight… and yet, here you are. Right where you belong.”
My lips part, my voice a rasp of pure disbelief.
“You.”
TO BE CONTINUED…