Chapter 6
BELLA
Pain.
A deep, burning throb that pulses in time with each heartbeat. Every thump makes it flare hotter and brighter. The smell of molten iron and scorched skin is still clinging to the air. I suck in a breath and instantly regret it.
Focus.
I try to move my left arm.
Big, fat, fucking mistake. White-hot agony rips through me again and I choke back a shriek. My body curls in on instinct, sending my forearm screaming in protest—muscles locking, skin stretched tight and angry.
I freeze.
“You’re alive. Just breathe,” I whisper.
I take a deep inhale and hold it. Trying my best to let the pain crest and recede like a dark wave against the beach. It works, just not enough.
Zeke is alive. After all this time, my brother is alive. Zeke is out there breathing, walking, talking, and fucking branding me.
How could he do this to me?
I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s been over two years. Two years trapped with a psycho like Luca is bound to break anyone.
Or is it a psycho like Uncle Jack?
My thoughts send my mind barreling sideways in all directions. The poems. The watching. The way he always knew too much. The things he said to me. About me.
What he did to Daddy.
What he did to Roman—Dad.
Shit. Is he even alive? How long can someone live with a gaping bullet hole in their chest anyway?
The image of Dad’s bleeding body stumbling back into his desk flashes behind my eyes.
I can still hear him breathing my name right before everything went black, his steel-gray eyes blown wide and terrified.
My hands shake as they wander down my body. Over the silky, black fabric that’s barely covering my skin.
When the fuck did I put this gown on?
“Ugh, one thing at a time.” My voice cracks against the silence.
I try the chain again, same result. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve probably kicked at this stupid thing a hundred times already, but it never budges.
A silver cuff around my ankle bites into raw skin as I stand.
The metal scrapes against the floor like nails on a chalkboard.
I take a couple of slow and careful steps, tracking how far I can get.
I only manage to make it a few feet before the chain yanks me backward.
I stumble onto the hardwood, catching myself on my forearms. Another round of burning rips through me.
“Ahh!” I hiss, curling in on myself. My vision blurs as I try to breathe through it once more.
After a minute, I push myself upright and shuffle back to the bed, chain clinking with every step. I don’t bother peeling back the covers. I just collapse on top of them.
I close my eyes and focus on the sound of my own breath.
In.
Out.
In.
I exhale and drag my left hand through my hair, forgetting about the brand for all of a second before the pain detonates again.
“Fuck,” I cry, snapping my head back into the pillow.
I force my eyes to open fully, drifting my gaze around the room.
The ceiling is familiar. It’s my room. The same carved headboard and same bedding.
The same mural of Razorback Stadium. Every brutal detail painted perfectly.
The lights, the crowd, and the field are exactly like the one Zeke had painted for me back in New York.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself. “It’s not your fucking room.”
I stare at the wall, my pulse pounding in my forearm. “For one, you’re room had a damn wind—”
“What was that, Izzy?” his voice cuts clean through the air.
I shut up.
He steps into the room, emerald green eyes locking onto mine like nothing else exists.
Luca.
Jack.
I jerk upright in bed, knees pulling to my chest, scraping my forearm on my leg. A shriek tears out of me before I can stop it. I bite down hard and try to force it back.
“It’s ok, Izzy,” he says softly, inching closer to me. “I’m here to help you.”
My breath stutters as I notice the scar curling down his left forearm. The one he never talked about. Biting down and breathing doesn’t do shit this time to stop the tears from flowing.
“Shhh.” He reaches toward me and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “You’re safe now.”
“Why?” The question catches in my throat. “Jack, why are you doing this?”
His hand stills in my hair. “Now, Izzy,” he says gently. “You know that’s not my true name.”
A chill creeps its way up my spine.
“J-Jack? It’s me, Bella,” I whisper, my voice small despite all my effort to steady it. “I’m not…” My head shakes. “I’m not Izzy.”
Something tightens in his expression. “Yes you are,” he says, running his finger down my cheek.
I try to pull away, but he grips my chin and tips my head back, forcing me to look into his eyes.
“You just don’t remember yet.” He tilts his head and studies me.
“You’re my Izzy, finally come back to me. ”
He reaches for my arm and carefully begins wrapping it in a gauzy bandage. I wince slightly as the stinging heat flashes, but I force myself to breathe through the pain. His touch is precise and practiced. Too gentle for everything that he’s done.
“You did so well today,” he continues as if he’s praising a child. “You didn’t fight your brother. You took my flame just as you were meant to.” His mouth curves faintly. “Absolutely perfect.”
He leans in slowly and brushes his lips against my cheek. It feels wrong, invasive, and intimate in a way that makes me want to puke.
I pull back. “Please,” I whisper. “Let me go.”
The hurt in his eyes is immediate. A raw and startling disappointment like I’ve somehow failed him. Like I’ve broken some fragile, private fantasy he’s been nurturing for years.
“I can’t do that, Izzy” he says, shaking his head as he tightens the bandage around my arm. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” His smile widens. “So we can be together again.”
“Together?”
He nods. “Me. You. And your brother.”
He finishes the wrap with meticulous precision, but he doesn’t move away. No. Instead, the creep just sits there, settling his hand on my knee. His fingers trace slow, absent-minded lines up and down my thigh.
“Hmm… hmm… hmm…
Hmm… hmm… hmm…” he hums.
“Please.” I swallow. “Don’t.”
“Hmm… hmm… hmm…
Hmm… hmm… hmm…”
Wait, I know this song. It’s the same one he used to hum to me when I was just a frightened little girl during thunderstorms.
“You don’t remember yet,” he murmurs, eyes roaming over my chest. “But you will soon. I’ll help you.” He leans in closer, his calloused fingers inching up my thigh. “I’ve waited so long for this day.”
My pulse roars in my ears. “Don’t.”
“I watched you,” he continues, pushing the silk of my gown higher. “The way you fit between them. The way you trusted them with your heart.”
“Stop,” I beg.
“Trusted them with your body.” He bites his bottom lip as his gaze drops to my exposed skin. “Do you remember my touch, Izzy? Remember how good I used to make you feel?”
I freeze as his hand reaches my hip, his fingers tangling with the string of my thong.
“How you used to scream for me and only me?”
Knock. Knock.
Luca, Jack—I don’t even fucking know what to call him at this point—quickly removes his disgusting fingers from my body. I shove the gown back down, wincing again as I move my arm too damn fast.
Zeke pops his head in, never once even looking at me. “Luca, you’ve got a call.”
“Okay,” he replies, pushing up from the edge of the bed. “I’ll be right there.”
The mattress lifts with him. He leans back down and presses a kiss to the top of my head. My body goes rigid.
“Get some rest, Izzy,” he whispers into my ear.
He straightens, smooths the blanket over my legs with one careful motion. He heads toward Zeke, stopping in the doorway to peer back at me. A sick smile curling on his face.
“I’ll come check on you when it’s time for dinner. See about getting these chains off of you too,” he says before turning and leaving my room.
Zeke pauses in the doorway. His body angled away.
“Zeke,” I cry.
His eyes cut back to me, just for a moment.
“Zeke, please. You can’t just leave me in here.”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” I snap. “How could you do this to me?”
“You don’t underst—”
“Make me understand!” I erupt, my voice coming out with a high-pitched burst I don’t even recognize.
“Come on, Zeke,” Luca calls from the hall. “Our Izzy needs her rest. Busy days ahead.”
Zeke’s gaze sharpens on me, something darker flickering in his already almost black eyes. “I’m sorry, Bells. I have to go.”
He turns.
“Psycho,” I spit.
Zeke halts mid-step, shaking his head once while trying to hide a small chuckle. But I hear it. He places a hand on the doorframe, glances back over his shoulder, and winks.
“Takes one to raise one.”