Chapter 26
DECLAN
“Come on, Declan,” Austin says as he slaps me in the face. “You got more in you, right?”
I lean away from him as much as I can, but he’s still in contact with my skin. “As much as you can give me.”
Austin smirks, but it’s sharp enough to cut me in two. “We’ll see.” He takes the pliers and walks behind me. I swallow roughly, trying to prepare myself for the agony, but can I really be prepared? He grips my nail with the end of the pliers, wiggling it from its bed.
“Fuuuuuuck!” I cry out as he yanks the nail from the bed. It’s something so small, so simple, but the pain is excruciating.
Austin laughs behind me, dropping the piece of nail onto my lap. “I can do this all day.”
I allow myself a soft sob before I look up at him, hoping to incinerate him with my gaze. “That’s all…you got? I…iced…your pops. You’d think…you had… something… more… painful.”
Talking hurts. My face hurts, my tongue feels dry and heavy and my head throbs. But I can’t give up. I can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he broke me.
“Oh, I have more,” he says, standing in front of me with his arms crossed. “You know, you’re not as smart as you think you are. You almost had that thief Jadon put down when all he had was sticky fingers. He was a real whiny bitch when he was faced with death.”
I scoff, remembering the day in my office differently. Jadon was scared, but he wasn’t whiny. I don’t think he took my threat of death seriously. He was—
It hits me suddenly and I look up at Austin as if I’m seeing him for the first time. “It was…you,” I grunt. “You…killed Jadon…and his…family.”
Austin smiles widely, but his eyes are blank and uncaring. “It would have just been him, but his bitch and spawn were home. No witnesses, right?”
Wrong.
I might kill a man or woman, but never a child. Even if they wanted to come back and seek revenge, that would be the price I had to pay. It’s against my family’s code to kill kids.
Mustering as much derision as I can, I spit, “You’re a…piece of shit. If your…pops still had his…brain intact, he’d be…disappointed.”
He places his thick hand around my throat, squeezing hard. My eyes bug out as I try to pull in a breath, but his hold is too strong. I meet his gaze, staring him down as he chokes the life out of me. If I die, I want him to see I’m not afraid.
Just before I lose consciousness, he lets me go and I drag in greedy lungfuls of air. My coughing fit hurts my ribs—most of which are probably broken—but that can’t be helped.
“Keep going with your fucking smug bullshit, I’ll cut off the rest of the fingers on your left hand,” he snarls in my face.
With my last ounce of defiance, I cackle and slur, “Too bad for you… I’m ambidextrous.”
He grabs my face, squeezing my jaw so hard I see stars. “If I don’t have my money in twenty-four hours, I’ll cut every last fucking digit off. You won’t ruin anymore families.”
When he lets me go, I groan and lower my head, fighting back tears. “Maybe.”
“You killed my father because he didn’t want to follow you. You’re a fucking infant and we were forced to defer to you? My father proved himself for years and what did that get us? You as our fucking boss.”
“That’s hierarchy…for ya.” Looking up at him, I say, “You’re…a whiny…bitch.”
His fist connects with my face and everything goes black.
The sound of a door slamming jars me into consciousness. I whimper as fresh agony overwhelms me.
Tears spill slowly down my face as I’m consumed with pain. My head is fuzzy, clouded. I can’t think. All I can do is feel. Feel the aches up and down every inch of my body.
Blood runs down my hand from my missing digit, the slow drip, drip, drip playing in my ear.
It hurts. Everything fucking hurts. From my scalp to the soles of my feet. I just want it to be over. If that means they kill me, so be it.
A sob catches in my chest. I don’t want to think this way. I’m supposed to fight. I’m supposed to want to get out of here so I can kill every motherfucker that hurt me. But…it hurts so much.
A voice echoes in my head, soft and deep, like Nico when he gives me pointers on my stance while sparring or talking me through my orgasm when he makes me explode. “Don’t give up, handsome. Fight a little longer.”
I hang on to the voice, knowing it’s only in my head, but it’s all I have.
It’s enough.
I’ve never given up on anything in my entire life. I made it through the death of my mother and my best friend. I’ve been beaten, shot, and stabbed. I’ve been through pain. This is so much worse, but I’m not a punk-ass bitch. I need to shake this shit off and fucking try.
I beat myself up for almost giving up, but I can harp on that later. Right now, I need to think. How am I going to get out of here?
The blood dripping from my missing finger is distracting, the repetitive noise making my head throb as much as hunger and thirst.
“Fucking stop,” I grumble, my head thumping in time of the droplets. I can’t think while—
Wait…
I wiggle my hand back and forth, blood from various cuts on my forearms dripping down past my sore wrists. It’s not enough to get my hand through, but…it gives me an idea. I’ll have to hurt myself further, but it will be worth it. I’ll patch myself up when I’m out of here.
Gritting my teeth—which is painful in itself—I rub my left wrist along the cuffs, hard.
A cry leaves my lips, but I don’t give up.
I keep grinding into the metal attached to my wrist until the skin breaks.
Blood flows, but not enough, so I keep going, hoping I don’t go deep enough to make me fucking bleed out.
The soft trickle of blood wets my palm, collecting in my cupped hand. I maneuver my fingers toward the bone in my thumb, getting it as slick as possible.
My heart hammers, knowing what I’m about to do, but I can’t stop. This will be the only way to free myself and get the upper hand on my captors.
I pull in several deep breaths, panting as I gear myself up for more pain. In and out, in and out, in and out, in and—
A scream threatens to tear from my throat as I pull up hard, my slick hand catching on the cuff. The metal has no give and my bone wants me to stop, but I keep pulling, keep tugging, keep—
“Fuck!” I shout when I feel the bone in my thumb pop. My vision whites out and I slump to the side, my eyes drooping from the unimaginable pain. Nothing could have prepared me for how much it’ll fucking hurt to dislocate my own bone.
Footsteps sound over me and I shake off the pain as I pull again, whimpering as the skin tears. But my hand glides through the cuff, free for the first time in probably a week.
I bring my hand around to my front, cradling it against my belly. Blood collects on my shirt, wetting my front. The sharp tang of copper settles on my tongue, making my head spin.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I take the empty cuff and push the shackle through the hole, hoping to use the end as a weapon of sorts.
I reach down and make quick work of the rope tied around my ankles, freeing them from their confinement. Glad those fuckers used rope instead of cuffs on my ankles or I’d be fucked.
I’ll have to work fast. When one of my captors comes down, I have to attack. If I wait, I die. Well, I still might die, but at least I’ll die on my feet, not tied to a fucking chair.
Standing, I sway before I limp toward the stairs, biting my lip against the pain.
Maskless twisted one of my ankles until I thought my skin would tear, but he didn’t break the bone.
It still hurts like a bitch. Putting weight on it is almost blinding.
Still, I hobble to the stairs and press my back against one of the beams. When I look up, I see that I can’t be detected from my hiding spot.
Even though I know I need to remain alert and clear my mind so I can think of my next move, I close my eyes, letting a soft cry push past my lips. This has to end. I hope I get out of here alive, but if not, I’ll give these assholes something to remember me by.
Just as I’m straightening from the beam and wiping my wet hands on dry parts of my clothes, the door creaks open and footsteps descend the stairs.
On high alert, I adjust the cuff in my hand, getting ready for the fight of my life.
Luck is on my side.
The masked man that comes down the stairs isn’t paying attention to his surroundings, his fingers moving quickly as he texts or surfs the internet or whatever the fuck he’s doing on his phone.
Before he realizes I’m not tied down anymore, I’m on him, taking the cuff and bringing it down over and over onto his neck.
Blood spurts back at me and he loses his balance, dropping down to one knee.
I don’t let up, bringing down the cuff over and over.
I’m not sure how deep I get with its blunt tip, but I don’t care. Eventually, I’ll get through to—
“Brett!” the man shouts before he falls forward, his legs twitching as I keep stabbing. Blood and tissue splatter across my hand as I stab and stab and stab.
A loud shout has me whirling around as the other masked man hits the landing and runs at me full tilt. I only have a moment to brace myself before he barrels me over. I use our momentum to toss him off, leaving him sprawled on his back.
Adrenaline gives me fight, but not enough to mask the fucking agony that tackle sent through my body. I lie there, trying to catch my breath and will my limbs to move, but pain has my brain clouded, unable to receive the frantic signals I give it.
Please. Please move. I can’t die like this.
The man is quick on his feet, able to get his legs under him and rush me again. I’m forced onto my back, with the man straddling me. Like Nico taught me, I hold my arms up to my face, making the man’s punches connect with my forearms while I try to figure out my next move.
Fuck, he’s strong. Each strike feels like a sledgehammer colliding with my body. His weight against my middle hurts so fucking bad, my ribs screaming as I try to avoid his strikes.