Chapter 53
EMBERLINE
Ifigured once his audience left, Bruno would give up.
Cut me down. Take a break.
But the bastard was passionate about his work, and it showed.
Bruno’s cruelty was paced like a metronome. Even. Dependable. I knew when the next lash of pain would happen, how long the next pause would last, and where the following blow would come from. Fucker was predictable, and I didn’t know if that made this better or worse.
Better, I decided. At least I could prepare myself, relax bruised muscles before they absorbed another shock, take a bracing breath before my lungs were crushed by a punch to the gut.
And, for the most part, he was a male of few words.
In the silence between the pain, I figured a few things out.
Clearly, Giovanni had enough wards around this place that Dante couldn’t find me; otherwise, his big, fiery, scary demon would already be here, and Bruno would be nothing but a pile of burning ash. Nico could finally roast those marshmallows he was always talking about.
Sadly, that was not the case.
Which meant I was on my own. Beaten to a pulp in my underwear, which had definitely seen better days.
Another flick of a blade, a long, dramatic pause, Bruno watching me for some sign of weakness.
Not happening, asshole. I’d learned to swallow my screams a long time ago until they burned my throat raw. Pain was something to endure, a fleeting thing in life, not enduring.
And if I had one thing in spades, it was stubbornness.
The room smelled like urine more than blood. I didn’t know how that was possible, given how dry my throat was, and I’d never gotten my glass of water, but here we were. Old Ember would be utterly humiliated.
New Ember hoped Bruno choked on the stench.
My wrists were carved apart where the shackles chewed deeper with every movement, my shoulders screaming from being wrenched upward for too long. Blood slicked my arms, my back, and dripped from my toes. I looked like a Jackson Pollock painting if crimson was his favorite color.
Like an artist, Bruno tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
“My uncle has high standards,” I choked. “He has a hard time with failures, and so far, my friend, you are definitely failing.”
“He told me you were mouthy.” He paced lazily across the room, his blood-splattered, handmade shoes clicking against the stone like a clock counting down the seconds. “Maybe I’ll drop you down, put that mouth to good use.”
“Go ahead. Try it… if you want to be castrated.”
Motherfucker. My teeth were sharp and my temper…well, Bruno was lucky I was strung up to the ceiling because if I wasn’t, my uncle would come back to quite the mess. That tray of knives hadn’t gotten nearly enough use, in my opinion. Not that I was complaining.
“There’s a way to get to everyone,” he countered, most likely rethinking the current, attached condition of his dick. “You know who else talks a lot? That brother of yours.”
Everything inside me went still, panic blooming in the quiet.
He crouched in front of me, fingers gripping my chin hard enough to bruise. I forced myself to meet his eyes, this new, uncontrollable terror clawing up my spine.
“Pain isn’t your trigger. But I’ll just bet you have a soft spot for your brother. Twins, right? I heard they share some kind of special bond. And I’ll give you one guess on where your uncle disappeared to. Who he went to fetch.”
My previous fear paled in the face of what I felt now, thinking of Luca suffering at this sadist’s hands, at my brother strung up in my place, bleeding all over the floor. Protect him, my mother had begged, and now… now I was going to watch him scream, and this was all my fault.
“I don’t know anything,” I whispered. “You’re chasing ghosts here, Bruno.”
“I don’t think so.” He searched my face for a moment longer—then smiled.
“Until your brother arrives, I have an idea. I heard you don’t like the water so much. Let’s see how long you can hold your breath.”
No. No, no, no…
My breath hitched, “I’m telling you, I don’t know where the Basin is. If I did, I would have told you by now. Please… please don’t…” I started thrashing, chains rattling, metal biting deeper into my skin.
The door opened behind me, wheels grated against the floor, then stopped, water sloshing onto the floor.
Bruno stepped into my line of vision, grinning like a madman. “You should have told me everything. There was really no need for all of this. Now, let’s get you down.”
All of a sudden, the chains gave way, and I dropped. Unable to catch myself with my hands still tied behind my back, I slammed into the floor, bones bending the wrong way, muscles and tendons tearing.
His hand closed around my head, grasped my hair, and dragged me to my feet.
Then I was staring down at a deep metal tub of water, Bruno’s hand gripping the back of my head, forcing me down, the sloshing surface getting closer and closer. I shoved back against the force, chest heaving, breath coming too fast, too shallow. “Please… please… Bruno, don’t do this!”
“If you’re still feeling stubborn after this,” he said conversationally. “I’ll string Luca up in your place. Somehow, I doubt your brother has the same fortitude.”
“Touch Luca, and I will kill you.” My scream echoed around the concrete room, wild and unhinged. “I will rip your heart out of your chest and—”
He shoved me under. The entire world turned suffocating, bubbles streaming up around my face as I continued to scream, fighting against an unstoppable force. One last sound left my lips, and water flooded my lungs.
Darkness hit me like a fist, swallowing me whole.
Then I was blinking, on my back, soaking wet, gasping for air.
“There she is. Let’s try that again.”
My heart stuttered.
“No,” I gagged, water exploding out of my mouth. “No, no, no… please…”
“You said it yourself, Giovanni does not tolerate failure, and I will not fail him. When he takes over, I’ll be at his side, and you will not stand in my way.”
My chest seized as he hauled me up with one hand, grabbed a handful of hair, and plunged my head underwater.
This time, I managed to fill my lungs with air first, which only prolonged the inevitable.
My bare feet slid and slipped on the floor, my collarbone bruising from being pressed to the rim of the metal tub.
Like before, darkness swept in.
But this time…
Twin veils fluttered in the wind, parting like doors, welcoming me inside.
A gloaming darkness loomed just beyond, filled with indistinct, shifting forms, and then, emerging from those shifting shadows, my mother took shape, her mouth open wide, her hand outstretched as if she was reaching for me.
I reached back, straining until our fingers brushed together, ice shooting up my arm in spikes of pain so intense, I…
I woke up on the floor, choking in a puddle of water, the last of my pitiful strength gone.
A broken sound tore from my throat. “H-How many times…?” I couldn’t stop shaking, my fingers were so cold, the shackles…
wait… the shackles were loose, sliding around my wrists with some room to spare.
I worked my right hand against the metal circle and then, with a wiggle and a yank, my hand slid out.
For a moment, I just lay there, not believing my good fortune.
No… not fortune. My mother did this.
“As many as it takes.” Bruno leaned closer and tapped my temple. “The answer is in there somewhere; I just need the right key to unlock that mouth of yours. Pain wasn’t it, but drowning… I think we’re finally getting somewhere. Once I’ve softened you up, I’ll get started on your brother, and…”
Something primal surged through me—pure, protective instinct.
I rolled away, and Bruno lunged, pinning me down with his body, fumbling to get me under control. I brought my free hand up, grappling for something… anything, and my hand closed around something metal…
I didn’t think.
I yanked it free and drove it up between us, up and up and up…
The blade sank into Bruno’s side with a sickening resistance.
Bruno roared, backhanding me so hard, the world went white. I rolled away, ears ringing—and miraculously, I still had the knife gripped in my free hand, and I could move.
Legs shaking, vision wonky, I pushed up to a crouch, and he came for me, big arms sweeping through the air.
Chain and shackles dragging behind me, I dove between his legs, slid across the wet floor, slashing at his calf on the way past. The knife ripped out of my hand, and I slammed hard into the water tub, knocking it over, flooding the room.
Bruno climbed awkwardly to his feet, gripping the back of his leg, and tried to put weight on it. Went down in a pissed-off pile of Armani wool and curse words that would make a sailor blush.
I wiped the blood off my face and pulled myself up on the metal table, grabbed the first thing my hand landed on—an enormous hook—and waited for him to make the next move. I had no strength left. Enough, maybe, for two more rounds of hand-to-hand.
Not enough to get past him and run.
I had to finish him off. Fast.
Because if I didn’t, he was going to really, really make me suffer.
He came at me again, hobbled by his bad leg and overcompensating on the slick floor. Blew right past me, arms pinwheeling as he fought to regain his balance. I sank the hook into the side of his neck, deep enough, the end popped out the other side.
Kind of like hooking a worm.
Blood spurted as he clawed at the sharpened end, trying to get it loose.
He pivoted in a clumsy turn, and I kept running my hand over the metal tray, feeling around for something bigger, something sharper, something… yes, right there.
My hand closed around the hilt of a knife I recognized by touch alone. The one he’d used on me last, the one with a curved blade and a point sharp enough to slide through flesh without the slightest hesitation.
I pushed the last of my strength into my strained muscles, braced myself for what would be my last play.
Bruno knew it, too, searching for his best opening, evaluating every weakness. I saw the moment he made his decision, the cunning smile on his mouth, the cruel gleam in his eyes as he drew his gun.
Not a bad move, given the ten feet between us.
I rushed him before he raised the barrel all the way, whipped out my hand, the chain and shackle swinging in a wide, whistling arc, aimed straight toward his face.
Carried by the weight of the iron shackle, the chain wrapped around his head with spectacular speed, and the gun went off, the bullet ricocheting off the concrete with a screech as I drove the knife up into his chin, through the soft palate, straight into his brain.
His eyes—what I could see through the chain—widened, and he brought the gun up, pressed the hot muzzle to my temple. All I heard were clicks as he tried—and failed—to pull the trigger. Then he collapsed at my feet, gun skittering across the floor.
I couldn’t move, chest heaving, his blood seeping out all around me. My hands trembled, slick with blood—his, mine, I couldn’t tell anymore.
A shaky breath tore from my lungs.
I was alive. By some miracle, I’d survived, and Bruno was dead. I had to get the fuck out of here before Giovanni returned with Luca and…
My gaze snapped toward the door, and I staggered toward freedom on legs that barely worked, leaving Bruno’s brutalized body behind.
I should cut off his head. I really should finish this. But I barely had enough strength left to turn the doorknob, hang onto the doorjamb for dear life, and sigh in defeat as I sank to the floor. The corridor might as well have been fifty miles long as fifty feet.
But I wasn’t leaving here without those letters.