Chapter 27 Saoirse
SAOIRSE
Ihate him.
Why would they let him purchase me? Surely anyone with a brain can tell there’s no way I’ll go quietly. Ripping Bruno’s throat out as my last act in this God forsaken place sounds like a good way to go. Revenge is all I have left.
Our locked gaze lingers for just a few seconds while I pour every ounce of my hatred through my eyes, hoping he understands just how deeply I loathe every single thing about him. Then hands grip my upper arms and I’m swiftly dragged off the stage.
The rage at Bruno cuts through the drug haze like a hot blade so I cling to it just to maintain some clarity.
It doesn’t matter why he bought me, or even what he plans to do to me.
I’m going to kill him the first chance I get.
I’m going to wrap my hands around his fucking throat and strangle him until his dying breath slips past those lips I used to love kissing so much.
Focusing on that rage warms me through the sudden blast of cold water from a hose pipe as the guards wash me down and tear at my clothes. I don’t care that they’re making me naked. Shame doesn’t matter now. All that matters is keeping my mind clear until I’m close enough to Bruno.
If I’m to die here, I’m taking him with me.
“Here.” After the hose clunks off, one of the guards throws a rough towel into my arms. It’s seen much better days and hardly has any structure to do anything but move the water droplets around my body.
“What—” My throat closes and burns, forcing me to cough. My attempt to speak earns me a slap so hard my ears are left ringing so I clutch the towel to my naked chest.
“Dry yourself,” the guard barks. “Then put this on.”
The fabric he tosses toward me barely looks like clothing. It’s more string floss.
“Maybe you hit her too hard,” scoffs the second guard. “She doesn’t know what it is.”
“Here, bitch!” The first man drives his fingers into my bruised cheeks when he snatches my jaw and forces my head up. “Dry yourself off and get dressed,” he says slowly and loudly. “Or I’ll dress you and I won’t be gentle. Understand?”
In any other situation, I would kill him.
But I’m defeated. My body is broken, my mind is struggling to remain together and rescue is a distant thought. All I have is Bruno.
I nod the best I can in his grip and once he’s satisfied, he lets me go.
Standing in the puddle of cold water, I drag the towel over my body and grimace.
It’s the first time seeing all of myself in light since I arrived here.
There are bruises everywhere, lacerations where my skin split under the force of blows and punches, grazes where I fought back before I learned how pointless it was, and a few blood blisters around my ankle.
All of it pales to the bruise across my abdomen that I wash tenderly.
Is my baby okay?
I hope it’s not. I hope it’s met the same fate as Cian because there’s no way in hell I’m giving birth in a place like this.
I can’t stomach the thought of what they would do to that baby.
Once dry, I have to untangle the strange fabric I was given. It’s a cluster of thin, sheer fabric that appears to have no shape until I spread it all out and it finally takes form.
Lingerie.
It’s a sheer body suit that’s clearly meant to wrap around my body like ribbon, and make me look beautiful.
Instead, I look more like the rejected topper from a cake by the time I work out how to put the damn thing on.
The thin fabric that barely covers my nipples is nothing compared to the thin strip between my legs that immediately rides up my ass when I slide the shoulder straps on.
Whatever.
My dignity is left back in that old cell.
“About time.” The straps are barely in place when the first guard grabs me by my elbow. Pain lances up my arm and I whimper but he ignores me, dragging me after him toward a door at the other end of the room with the second guard following.
Where are we going? Is he taking me to Bruno?
As soon as he leaves us alone, I’m taking my chance.
Fuck entertaining this hell.
We walk from the cold, stone water room down a long, winding corridor and into a warm, well-lit office at the end. It’s so exquisitely decorated that I feel like I’ve just entered a completely different dimension compared to the cold hose room I just left.
Leather chairs are scattered around the room, placed lazily around several small tables holding cigar boxes, finance magazines, and electronic tablets.
An unmanned bar sits against the wall at the far end, framed by two floor-to-ceiling windows covered in heavy, deep red drapes. Only two men occupy the room.
Bruno and his father Domenico.
Seeing them together breaks my heart. How foolish did I look, falling for Bruno’s act? Believing him when he said his father had been set up? I should have trusted my instincts and killed him the first night I saw him. What did I ever see in that guy?
“Sir.” The guard releases my elbow as he introduces himself.
Domenico turns to face me. He has a half-drunk glass in his hand and an uncharacteristically rosy look around his face. Clearly he’s in a good mood.
“Excellent,” he says.
Behind him, Bruno turns to face me and his gaze remains as cold and expressionless as it was in the auction theatre.
“Well, my dear.” Domenico lazily walks toward me while tipping his glass back and forth. “Who would have thought it would come to this?”
“I—I’m not your dear,” I force out past my burning throat with every ounce of strength I have left.
Domenico’s hand flies out lightning fast and he strikes me across the face, sending my head snapping to the side. Warm blood bursts over my tongue as my cheek splits while Domenico grabs my chin and forces me to look at him.
“No,” he says quietly. “You’re not mine.
You’re his.” His head jerks back toward his son.
“But I can’t wait to see you crumble. Day by day, the great Saoirse Gifford will be reduced to ashes and every day here will be worse than the last. And I will enjoy it so you get to experience even a fraction of the irritation and disruption you’ve caused me. My son, too.”
Behind Domenico, Bruno appears to be in agreement.
My heart throbs painfully and nausea twists in my gut. Was there a part of me clinging to what Bruno and I once had? A deep, hidden sliver of hope that Bruno was still on my side or even that I’d been wrong all along and his father really was being set up.
But no. It’s as clear as a cloudless day.
I’ve lost.
Domenico has won.
He looks me up and down with his lips curling in disgust, then he steps away from me and turns to Bruno. “I expect the best behavior from her, Bruno. No more disruptions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She will stay at one of our facilities. The last thing I need is her getting one over on you and escaping. Understand?”
Bruno seems completely uncaring, bored almost as he agrees with a casual nod of his head. “Works for me. Means I don’t need to watch the bitch all the time.”
“Indeed,” Domenic scoffs softly and drinks. “Take her away.”
They drugged me to knock me out for travel. The last thing I saw was the insufferable smug look on Domenico’s face. Given the chance, I’d want to kill him too.
I wake up in a small square cell with a single mattress in one corner and nothing else.
No window and my only light source is a single lightbulb dangling down from a ceiling far too high for me to reach. Slowly, I pick myself up off the stone floor and glance around for anything else I might have missed, but my set up is pretty simple. Empty.
Just me and my mattress.
Giving me anything else is likely too much of a risk because I would definitely find a way to use it as a weapon, either to end the life of whoever comes through the wooden door in front of me, or my own life to save me from this hell.
Alone, my thoughts suddenly become too loud.
The pain my body’s in grows into a screaming siren at the back of my mind, mingling with the emotional grief of watching my twin get murdered right in front of me, and it all clashes with the sickening realization that I’ve just been sold and will likely never see daylight ever again.
All while secretly carrying this baby.
What have I done? How did I let this happen?
Tears flood my eyes in seconds and pressure swells beneath my ribcage, like all my emotions are taking up physical space inside me.
I can’t breathe. It’s all too loud. I slap one hand over my mouth but it does nothing to muffle the agonizing sob that escapes me.
Something about the silence of the cell creates an echo chamber of my own turbulent thoughts and pain, and there’s no escape.
I think I preferred it when they were drugging me to keep me docile.
Now it’s just me and overwhelming grief mingling with such intense guilt that it feels like my head is being crushed in a vice.
More and more tears flood my eyes and pour down my cheeks.
I’m too weak to stop them. My balance wavers but as I sag back against the wall, the door in front of me suddenly clunks with the sound of several locks being slid back.
Then the door swings open and Bruno Del Prete walks in.
His cold, impassive expression lasts until the door swings shut behind him, then his brows pull together and his eyes widen. “Saoirse, Oh, my God!”
The sound of him saying my name after everything he’s done enrages me and despite the tears pouring down my cheeks, the sobs clawing at my throat and the agony radiating around my body, I throw myself forward with a scream of rage.
“Fuck you!” I scream, colliding him with all the force I can muster. Pain fades into nothing but static noise as I punch him as hard as I can manage, and slam my knee into his crotch. “Fuck you, you motherfucker. I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Saoirse, wait— please! Listen to me!” He grabs me by the shoulders and briefly holds me back. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, please just let me—”
“No!” He doesn’t hold me back for long. Again I throw myself forward past his grip and attack with everything I have. I punch and kick, bite and claw everywhere and anywhere I can get my nails. I pull his hair and try to get my hands around his throat to squeeze the life out of him.
But he’s healthy. He’s in much better shape than I am and while he’s not fighting back, he’s making sure I don’t do much damage.
It only angers me further. White hot rage burns through me like wildfire and the renewed energy that courses through me allows me to throw myself at him over and over again. Every limb becomes a weapon, every part of me latches onto him, determined to hurt him even a fraction of how he hurt me.
“Saoirse, please I’m trying to help—”
“Help!” I screech, punching him in the face again and again. “You’ve killed me, motherfucker. I hate you. I’m broken because of you. Everything is ruined and I’m taking you with me!”
I want to kill him. I’ve never wanted anything more than to watch the life fade from his eyes and that desire courses through me for several minutes.
But my weakness eventually catches up to me. Adrenaline wears off and exhaustion covers me like a fuzzy blanket. My head throbs and my last punch barely makes contact with Bruno as I overbalance and fall to the ground.
He catches me before my knees make contact with the stone and despite my struggles, he manages to drag me toward the mattress. Once there, I kick him off with the last of my strength and slump there, panting like I’ve just sprinted the length of a marathon.
“Saoirse.” His nose is bleeding heavily and I’ve left several scratches down his face and throat. It’s not enough, though.
It’s not nearly enough for what happened to Cian.
“Please, believe me when I say I did you a favor.”
A favor? Is he fucking for real?
“Fuck you,” I spit while tiredness slurs my speech slightly.
“I saved you,” he hisses, his voice low. “I don’t know who’s listening so I can’t say—” He stops himself and presses his lips together, looking me up and down and then shaking his head. “Please. I’m going to fix this. I just need you to trust me.”
Trust.
How he can utter such a word is beyond me.
Through flooded eyes, I glare at him as a final broken sob bubbles up in my throat. “K-Kill me.”
“What?”
“Kill me,” I gasp. “You basically already have so get it over with!”
“Saoirse, no—”
“Kill me!” I scream, surging forward. “You better kill me because I swear I won’t stop trying to kill you until you do. Kill me, motherfucker. Finish what you started!”
Bruno looks utterly horrified. “I—”
“Kill! Me!”